


Everyone Needs Help Sometimes

by KaseyBeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: @totallyexhausted, Everyone Needs A Hug, Excuse my terrible translation, Fevers, M/M, Mama Katsuki to the rescue, Poor Viktor, Poor yurio, Posted on ff.net, STILL IN PROGRESS, She's a good mom, Sorry for spelling and grammar, Viktor gets sick at Yuuri's competition, Viktor gets sick in Hasetsu while visiting Makkachin, Viktor is a brat sometimes, Yurio gets sick while in Hasetsu, Yuuri is so sweet, emotional kiddos, i wish i spoke Russian, mention of child neglect, posted on tumblr, random sickfics, russian punk, so is yurio, the first time Viktor looked after Yurio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaseyBeth/pseuds/KaseyBeth
Summary: Various stories involving sick or hurt/comfort characters from Yuri On Ice.





	1. Sick in Hasetsu

Yurio groaned and pressed his head against the cold ceramic seat of the toilet. It was disgusting, he knew this, but he felt sick, and his head was beginning to hurt. He closed his eyes for a minute, drowning out the noise from the television outside the door, and focused on his breathing. His stomach churned violently and he thrust his head into the basin only bringing up vulgar tasting saliva. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with his grandfather. But instead he was stuck in the Katsuki bathroom, in Japan, training for a useless competition, trying to win Viktor over like a trophy. He sighed loudly, pulling away from the toilet and leaned against the wall behind him. It was Viktor’s fault he was sick, _Nyet,_ it was that piglet’s fault. If that damned Katsudon hadn’t posted his skating video online then Viktor never would have left Russia. And Yurio wouldn’t have to win that Geezer over like some prize.

Yurio pushed himself off the floor and walked over to the sink, splashing water on his face, hoping to wash away the sickness. He turned the faucet off and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was paler than usual, and he had bags under his eyes which made him look younger. There was a soft knock at the door and Yurio cringed as Katsudon’s voice echoed through the wood, “Yurio? You okay?”

The teenager gripped the sink. He really didn’t want to be here. Between the stress over his grandpa being sick, winning the competition, and the daily lectures he receives from Yakov, not to mention Viktor’s harsh practices, Yurio wasn’t surprised he felt sick. His stomach flipped again and he swallowed, turning the sink on once more to drown out the coughing. Viktor’s practices weren’t terrible, but they weren’t easy. It definitely wasn’t what Yurio had imagined when he agreed to compete against Yuuri.

Yurio shuddered, swallowing stiffly as Katsudon knocked again, “Yurio?”

“Ah! What the fuck do you want!” Yurio yelled, turning the sink off, and throwing open the door. He clenched his fists and grit his teeth, feeling anger and frustration coursing through his body.

Yuuri stood there, fiddling with his hands, panic lacing his voice “I-I’m-”

Yurio sneezed, wiping his nose with the bottom of his shirt before glaring back up at Yuuri. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, taking in Yurio’s shaking frame, and pale features. The kid looked sick, which wasn’t surprising considering he started to seem off yesterday evening when they were stuck under the waterfall. But it wasn’t until this morning when Viktor had stated there was something wrong with the boy, that Yuuri had begun to piece it together.

“Yurio, if you’re not feeling well, I can-” Yuuri started, scoping the bathroom behind the teenager, looking for any inclination that the kid was sick.

“I don’t need to be looked after, alright!” Yurio yelled, slamming his fist against the wall, “I’m not a child!” And yet you’re acting like one, Yurio thought. Yuuri sighed before adjusting his glasses, “Okay, I was just trying to help.”

Yurio pushed past Yuuri, slamming him into the wall behind him, “I don’t need any help. Especially from you.”

Yuuri turned the light off in the hall as Yurio plopped down on one of the couch cushions in the living room. The teenager pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it, spreading out until he was laying on his back. He muttered something in Russian before asking, “Where’s Viktor anyway?”

Yuuri sat down on one of the chairs next to the couch, and started flipping through channels. He glanced down at his watch, “I think he went down to Kachu, or somewhere like that. Why? Did you need something?”

Yurio snorted loudly, “What? No, I was just wondering where that Geezer ran off to in case he broke a hip or something.”

Yuuri glanced over at the teenager, smirking slightly. Yurio was sprawled out on the couch, flat on his back, with his phone above his face. He scrolled through Instagram nonchalantly, not really paying attention to the pictures he liked, before switching to Tumblr. He sneezed loudly, covering his mouth with his hand before wiping his nose with his sleeve. He sighed as he heard Yuuri say something incoherent from the other chair. He felt his phone slipping, and tried his best to juggle it in one hand while the other covered his mouth again. He let out another sneeze, jerking slightly as his phone slipped from his hand and smacked against his face. He groaned loudly, putting his phone on the armrest behind him and instead turned on his side to face the television in front of him.

Yuuri flipped through some more channels before turning on some Japanese sitcom about cats, figuring the teenager would like something he could relate to. He heard shuffling and looked over at the couch again to find Yurio staring intently at the television. He grinned, resting his feet against the table and flipping through his phone. He shook his head, seeing Viktor’s status update from the Yamoka Bar.

“What are they saying?”

Yuuri looked up, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “What?”

Yurio groaned, adjusting his position again until he was on his stomach, one arm hanging off the couch, “God your hearing is worse than that Geezer’s. I said, what are they saying?”

Yuuri turned towards the television, pulling his legs on the chair. The characters on the screen were a couple around their mid-twenties. They were having dinner, discussing their evening plans, but the cat kept jumping on the table, meowing loudly. The camera zoomed in on the cat as he continued to meow, knocking things off the table and demanding why his place wasn’t set.

Yuuri cleared his throat, “They’re discussing what to do after dinner but the cat keeps jumping up, wanting to know why he isn’t invited.”

Yurio snorted, glancing at Yuuri, “The cat can talk in this show?”

Yuuri nodded, “Yes, it’s a rather popular show in Japan. It has a lot more depth than the couple. Normally the show focuses around a young woman named Makko, who inherits 12 talking cats from her great uncle after he dies. It’s pretty ironic because she isn’t a cat person, so whenever she tries to do something, one of the cats show up somehow and ruin it.”

Yurio laughed softly before breaking out in a coughing fit. Yuuri leaned forward, “Yurio, you sure-”

Yurio shot him a glare, “If you ask me again, I swear I will punch you into the next room.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything. He leaned back against the chair again, turning back towards the television, biting his lip. His family were out of town for a day or two to advertise the last remaining Hot Spring in Hasetsu, and the upcoming competition. This wouldn’t really bother Yuuri considering they had done it before, but if Yurio was sick or at least coming down with something, Yuuri had hoped his mom would be back before he took a turn.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Yurio jolted awake suddenly aware of three things. First, he was still lying on Katsudon’s uncomfortable couch, except now, there was a blanket draped over him. Second, the room was darker than it had been before and the television was off, which probably meant Yuuri had left the room. And third, he felt utterly miserable. He groaned loudly, curling in on himself as his stomach twisted. He swallowed thickly, feeling the contents in his stomach sloshing around violently. His head was throbbing and he realized he was shivering despite feeling hot and sticky. There was no way in hell he was going to throw up. There was no way he was going to be sick in Hasetsu.

He jerked up as his stomach heaved, clasping a hand to his mouth as the world began to spin. He tried standing as his stomach heaved again, but his feet were tangled haphazardly in the blanket and he fell to the ground with a loud thunk. He curled in on himself once more, pressing his burning forehead against the wooden floor, his hand clamped over his mouth while his other arm clutched around his stomach protectively. He shivered slightly as the cold air touched his overheated skin, and shut his eyes as the world began to spin violently underneath him.

“Yurio?” Yuuri asked softly, placing a glass of water on a small table, and kneeling besides the trembling teenager.

Yurio didn’t answer and he didn’t look up. He was too afraid to. He was too afraid to move because he was sure if he did, if he moved even his head, he’d puke. He felt a gentle hand on his back as his body lurched forward. He felt the acidic bile rising in his throat as his stomach groaned in desperation, and he swallowed loudly. _No. No. NO! You’re not sick. This isn’t happening._

Yuuri rubbed the teenager’s back gently, concerned confusion etching across his face as he pulled his hand back. Yurio was covered in sweat. The teenager whimpered loudly, gripping his stomach tighter as his body lurched again. “Okay, Okay, let’s get you to the bathroom,” Yuuri whispered softly, grabbing the boy’s arm, pulling him to his feet slowly.

Yurio wanted to shake his head. He wanted to curse Yuuri out; he wanted to tell him he didn’t want to stand; he didn’t want to move. He felt the world shift as everything became upright, and clenched his eyes tighter, breathing shallowly through his nose. _Please don’t puke. Not here, not with the piglet next to you!_ His stomach pitched again, and Yurio lurched forward as vomit filled his mouth. He swallowed continuously, pleading with his body not to throw up. He leaned against Yuuri, surprised with how cool he felt against his overheated skin.

Yuuri put his arm around Yurio’s waist, resting it gently on the teenager’s stomach, and started walking towards the bathroom. He bit his lip, looking back down at the Russian Punk. Yurio’s face was plastered in sweat; he still had one hand over his mouth, the other wrapped around his stomach gently. Even with his eyes closed, Yuuri could see the distress and pain etched across the kid’s face. This wasn’t good.

Yuuri flipped on the hallway light as Yurio whimpered again, doubling over. “It’s alright Yura, were almost there, just a little further,” Yuuri said softly, hoping the kid could hold out that long because he really didn’t want to clean up a mess.

Yurio tried walking straight, he really did, but the nausea coursing through his body was making it hard to concentrate. His head spun again as his stomach cramped violently. He groaned, wishing his grandpa was here, or at least Viktor, someone familiar, someone Russian. His knees buckled and he slammed harshly against Yuuri. Yuuri gasped loudly, adjusting and tightening his grip around the teenager, trying to keep the boy from crumpling to the ground. Yurio’s stomach lurched again as Yuuri’s hand tightened around his midsection. He whimpered as the added pressure brought up a huge amount of vomit, drowning his mouth, and causing his whole body to pitch forward violently.

Yurio retched loudly, the acidic bile tearing at his throat, splattering harshly against the wooden hallway. He clenched his eyes tighter until they hurt, feeling his body begin to shake. He coughed again, trying to slow his breathing, as the remaining warm liquid dripped from his chin slowly. He heard Yuuri talking beside him but tuned him out as his stomach heaved again. He swallowed, shuddering as warmth washed over his already sweating body.

Yuuri adjusted his grip slightly, moving his hand towards the teenager’s chest gently, feeling the slimy liquid dripping down his hand and squishing between his toes. He shuddered slightly, disgust and concern coursing through his body. Yuuri tightened his grip as the teenager pitched forward again bringing up another wave of predigested food and stomach acid. He cringed at the thought of cleaning it up and swallowed, trying his best to keep his stomach intact. God knows, he wasn’t a stranger to vomit, having dealt with his fair share during his anxiety attacks, but it still wasn’t pleasant to clean up at midnight. Yurio let out a groan and Yuuri jerked his head down towards the boy.

Tears fell silently down Yurio’s cheeks and he opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He swallowed again, crossing both arms over his stomach now, as Yuuri lowered him to the floor gently. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until his face touched the icy floor. Yurio cringed as the smell touched his nose, and held his breath for a few moments as another wave of nausea passed over him. He sneezed softly, and gently wiped at the tears that fell from his tired eyes. He didn’t want to be here. He would rather be anywhere else in the world than here. And despite throwing up what seemed like half his body weight, and laying on the ground, his head was still spinning, and he still felt nauseous. He felt something cool on his forehead and blinked groggily to see Yuuri kneeling in front of him.

“God Yurio, you’re really sick, huh?” Yuuri said softly, moving his hand from the kid’s forehead to his cheek. He bit his lip again as concern and worry washed over him. He’d never seen Yurio sick before; usually the kid hid any illnesses or injuries until he either ended up passing out on the ice, or lectured from Yakov. And the fact that Yurio hadn’t yelled at Yuuri once, and seemed almost compliant with him being there, caused Yuuri’s anxiety to spike. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair gently, unsure of what to do. Yuuri had never really taken care of someone before. I mean yeah, he’d cared for his sister once when she was ill, but that was different. He looked around the small hallway, wishing his mom was here, or at least Viktor; hell, he’d even take Yakov, because honestly, he had no idea what to do to make the boy feel better.

Yurio wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and scrubbed angrily at the tears still falling down his cheeks. He felt miserable and all he wanted to do was get out of his sticky wet clothes. He coughed softly before biting the inside of his cheek as tears welled in his eyes again. _You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to cry._ Yurio’s eyes darted to the vomit puddled behind Yuuri then back towards the Japanese skater kneeling in front of him. Yurio cringed, noticing Yuuri’s shirt and legs were splattered with vomit. He gulped loudly before closing his eyes. Yuuri inhaled quickly, “Hey, don’t cry. It’s okay, no big deal. I’m going to go get some towels to clean this up, okay? And get you a change of clothes, okay?”

The kid didn’t reply but Yuuri hadn’t really expected him too. Instead Yurio curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to his knees, hoping the nausea would subside. He heard Yuuri get up followed by loud shuffling from another room as something was being opened. He crossed his arms around his stomach tighter, and welcomingly embraced the darkness that enveloped him.  
…………………………………………………………………………..

If someone had asked Yuuri a couple days ago how he thought he’d be spending his Friday night; taking care of the Russian Punk wouldn’t have been his answer. But now, Yuuri sat next to the bed, his feet propped up against the mattress, a book pressed firmly in his hands, disregarded. He glanced nervously between the pages, reading the lines but not absorbing its contents. He sighed and put the book on the desk and grabbed his phone, flipping through the contacts and letting his thumb hover over Viktor’s name. It was nearing 2am now, and according to his status Viktor was still checked in at Yamoka Bar.

Yurio whimpered slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Yuuri shifted, putting his phone down and leaning closer to the teenager. He pressed his hand gently against his forehead, sighing, feeling the warmth connecting with his fingers. It’d taken him an hour to clean up the hallway before he managed to carry the teenager to bed. Yurio was quite lite for his age but he was all limbs, which made carrying him a difficult task. Not to mention, Yuuri didn’t want to wake him, so trying to change his shirt was painfully slow. He sighed again, getting up and walking out of the room to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth, wetting it in the sink before grabbing some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. He returned, sitting on the edge of the bed, pressing the clothe to the boy’s forehead as he began to stir.

Yurio opened his eyes slowly to a spinning world. His stomach cramped and he whimpered again as he realized something wet was touching his face. He coughed roughly, peering up to see the Japanese skater sitting on the edge of the bed, “I-I don’t feel well, Katsudon,” he whined. Yuuri folded the clothe in half before pressing once again to the teenager’s forehead, “I know, just try to go back to sleep.”

The teenager moaned slightly, shifting to his stomach. The rag against his forehead felt nice, and he wished once more that his grandpa was here. He heard Yuuri sigh, and watched him get up from the bed before reaching a hand out, grabbing his wrist, “P-please, don’t leave. I, uh, I don’t want to be alone…”

Yuuri stared down at the teenager before smiling warmly. He climbed over Yurio, sitting next to him with his legs crossed in front of him. Yurio scooted closer, pressing his forehead against Yuuri’s thigh, causing the Japanese skater’s face to cloud with worry. He put his hand on the teenager’s back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades. Yurio sighed softly as his body began to drift back to sleep.

Yuuri bit his lip. He wasn’t used to the Russian Punk being so gentle and it worried him greatly. He continued to rub the boy’s back, hearing his breathing begin to even out, realizing he was asleep. He reached over, grabbing his phone off the nightstand, and turning the light off.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Yuuri wasn’t sure what woke him first. He laid there listening to the soft breeze outside the window and focused on his surroundings. It took him a few seconds to register two things. First, his hand that was resting against Yurio’s back was burning. Second, someone was crying.

Yuuri jolted up, flipping the lamp on beside him. Light flooded the tiny room and Yuuri let out a gasp as he glanced down at Yurio. The teenager was pressed against his side, sweat coating his face, drenching his hair, and soaking his clothes. His pace was paler than before except pink hues outlined his cheek’s and he was shivering. He reached for Yuuri, tears flooding down his face. Yuuri pressed his hand against the teenager’s forehead, pulling it back as soon as it touched his skin. He felt panic rising in his chest and tried taking a breath to calm down. The kid was burning.

Yurio let out a loud sob as he reached for Yuuri again. His skin was on fire and his stomach was killing him. The sheets tangled against his body burned against his sweaty skin. He coughed loudly sucking in a ragged breath harshly, “Y-Yuuri-” He cut off as another sob escaped his body.

Yuuri jumped off the bed, running into the other room, scrounging for a thermometer, hoping his mom had one in the guest bathroom. He heard the teenager crying from the other room, calling out in Russian, screaming for him, for Viktor, and for his grandfather. He bit his lip, running back, tripping over the rug on the floor.

“Yurio, shh, Yurio. It’s okay. Calm down, calm-,” He said, jumping back on the bed. Yurio reached for him again, and Yuuri pulled him closer, the teenager pressed his face against Yuuri’s chest, tears soaking through his shirt. He jammed the thermometer in the kid’s mouth roughly as Yurio cried louder.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Yuuri whispered, reaching for his phone on the nightstand and flipping through it quickly. He found his mom’s number and hit call, waiting impatiently as it continued to ring. He bit his lip again, feeling panic spreading through his body.

Yurio clutched at Yuuri’s shirt, pulling it down, mumbling something in Russian through half-shut eyes, and messy tears. His skin hurt, he didn’t feel well, and he wanted Yuuri to make it better. Yuuri cursed loudly as his flipped through his contacts again, dialing Yakov’s number, then Yurio’s grandfather. No one was picking up. Yurio sobbed again as Yuuri threw his phone down on the bed, pulling the thermometer from the boy’s mouth. He cursed again. Yurio’s temperature was at 104.1. That was high, really high. Did he need a Doctor? Did he need a hospital? He sucked in another breath, cradling the boy to his chest.

Yurio grasped again, whimpering in Russian as Yuuri tried his best to calm him down. He pulled the boy closer to him, running his hand through his sweat soaked hair, “Yurio, Yuri. I’m so sorry I-I don’t understand. I-” Yurio cried again, repeating the same phrase in Russian, tears streaming down his face. He buried his face in Yuuri’s chest, gripping his shirt tightly, feeling his stomach heave but having nothing left to administer.

“Yuri I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Honey, I don’t understand,” Yuuri said, panic etched in his voice. He straightened his glasses and took a shallow breath, feeling his own body beginning to tremble. “Y- Yu-uri,” Yurio cried, “Ta-tasu-kete.”

Yuuri felt his blood run cold as all the air in his lungs left his body. Yurio was pleading with him in broken Japanese now. This was really bad. Yuuri felt like he was choking as Yurio muttered the phrase again. He sucked in a shaky breath, “Okay, it’s okay. I’m going fix it. It’s okay. I’m going to fix.”

He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair shakily before grabbing his phone next to him, flipping through his contacts once more, dialing Viktor’s number. He bit his lip, praying to God that the older Russian would pick up. Yurio groaned, muttering in Russian again, pressing his forehead against Yuuri’s neck.

After the 4th ring, Viktor’s intoxicated voice drifted through the speaker, “Pork Cutlet! I was just talking about you!” There was a loud noise in the background causing Viktor to laugh and someone started shouting. Yurio let out another moan, “Tasukete… Yuuri… Viktor…. Myne plokho.”

Yuuri tensed up again, “Vik- Viktor-”

“Yuuri, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” Viktor shouted through the phone. Yuuri sucked in another breath, finding it difficult to breath now. He could hear the noise in the background begin to fade, realizing Viktor must have stepped outside to get away from the drunken crowd. He swallowed again, glancing down at Yurio, who still clung to him desperately. He clutched again at Yuuri’s shirt, choking out another sob and incoherent Russian. The heat enveloping his body was uncomfortable and making it hard to breathe properly. Yurio looked up at Yuuri, pain and fear clouding his face as more tears flooded his eyes, streaming down his cheeks.

Yuuri heard Viktor trip over something, laughing softly on the other end and mutter something in Russian, “Okay Yuuri. I can hear you now. I love the Saké, and people, Hasetsu is such a beautiful place, and you-”

Yuuri tried to breathe. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a half choked, “Vitya-” He felt the world growing smaller as the air suddenly thinned in the room and he found he couldn’t breathe. His face was heating up and his body was starting to shake as he tried to suck in a breath. His heart pounded wildly as panic flowed through his veins, hearing Yurio pleading again. Yuuri coughed breathlessly, trying to inhale the air surrounding him, fully aware he was on the verge of having an anxiety attack.

Viktor’s panicked voice echoed loudly through the phone, “Yuuri! Yuuri! Tell me what’s wrong!” Viktor words were suddenly sober as he sensed the situation, and Yuuri grasped onto every syllable, trying his best to even out his breathing. He couldn’t breathe. God, he couldn’t breathe. Yurio whimpered loudly, breaking out into another coughing fit. Snot was running down his face, mixing with the sweat and tears that covered his face, and he grasped again at Yuuri’s collar, digging his fingers into his neck.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said softly, “I need you to breathe. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Can you do that for me?” Yuuri nodded, closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, concentrating on Viktor’s voice over the phone. “In and out. Deep breath. Deep breath. Nice and easy.” Yuuri could hear Viktor moving on the other side of the phone and realized he’d left the bar now and was walking somewhere else. Yuuri concentrated on Viktor’s words, he concentrated on listening to him moving on the other side of the phone, picturing him walking past the river, stopping at the bridge. He let out a deep sigh, hearing Viktor do the same.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong,” Viktor said gently.

Yuuri took another breath, “I’m sorry to bug you, it’s just, it’s Yurio. I’m sorry Viktor, I didn’t know who else to call. I couldn’t get ahold of my mom, or Yurio’s grandfather, I, I just- I don’t know what to do,” Yuuri let out another shaking breath, feeling the teenager shiver against him. He gulped loudly, “He’s really sick Vitya, he’s- his fever’s really high and I don’t know what he wants, he keeps saying something in Russian and, and, I, I don’t speak Russian that well, and I- I,” Yuuri broke off, feeling tears welling in his eyes, and dripping down his face. He hated feeling helpless. He didn’t know what to do to help the teenager cradled in his arms, and he didn’t know Russian well enough to be able to comfort him.

“Yuuri, listen to me carefully,” Viktor said softly, his voice low and serious, “Take a deep breath again. In and out, alright?” Viktor paused, “does Yurio recognize you? Does he know who you are?”

“Yes- yes, he keeps saying my name- I don’t know-”

“Okay, that’s good. When Yurio’s ill sometimes he spikes high fevers, they don’t usually last long but at least he recognizes you, that’s good,” Viktor said, trailing off.

Yurio groaned again, his grip softening on Yuuri’s shirt causing the Japanese skater to glance down worriedly. Yurio was staring at him, blinking slowly, trying his best to stay awake, silent tears still sliding down his face. Yuuri watched him, afraid to move, afraid he would set the kid off again.

“Yuuri? Yuuri, are you still there?” Viktor asked softly.

Yuuri nodded before realizing Viktor couldn’t see him, “Y-yeah. I am. I’m here.”

“Alright good, listen, I’m going to see if there is a drugstore still open at this time of night. Keep an eye of Yurio’s fever, put a wet clothe on his forehead and try to get him to drink something. I’ll be back at the Hot Spring soon, alright?” Viktor asked quietly.

“O-Okay,” Yuuri gulped.

“Will you be okay? Or would you prefer I stay on the phone?”

Yuuri looked around the tiny room as Yurio groaned again, his body falling limp in Yuuri’s arms, “I’ll be fine Viktor…. Thank you for picking up, and-”

Viktor laughed, “No worries Yuuri, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to take care of the kid, you now.”

Yuuri smirked, feeling the tension leaving his body. Viktor knew what to do. Thank God, Viktor knew what to do. And he trusted Viktor. Yuuri sighed loudly, hanging up and easing Yurio down until the kid’s face was pressed softly against the pillow.

…………………………………………………………………………...

Viktor opened the door softly, breathing a sigh of relief as he entered the quiet room. He took his jacket off, setting the plastic bag on the ground and walked quietly over to the bed. He stood there, taking in the room, and laughed slightly. The nightstand table held a half empty bottle of Gatorade, and several disregarded washcloths.

Viktor ran his fingers through Yurio’s sweat dried hair, smirking. Yurio groaned slightly as Viktor sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his fingers against the teenager’s cheek tenderly, before running his fingers once more through his hair. The boy’s fever must have broken because he was covered in sweat now, and he felt lukewarm against Viktor’s touch.

Viktor sighed, looking over at Yuuri, who was asleep next to Yurio. Yuuri was laying on his side, one arm under Yurio’s head so the boy’s head was pressed against his shoulder, the other lying gently across the boy’s chest. His face was peaceful despite the dried tearstains still present on his cheeks from earlier. Viktor smiled fondly, reaching over to run his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. He chuckled again, noticing Yuuri’s glasses that were still against to his face, bending at a dangerous angle.

The teenager shifted slightly causing Yuuri to stir before opening his eyes slowly. He glanced at the boy making sure he was still asleep before glancing up to see Viktor sitting on the side of the bed. He felt his face heat up, realizing Viktor was watching him, and gently propped himself up, unclasping Yurio’s grasp from his shirt, “Uh, h-hi Vitya,” he whispered.

Viktor smiled sadly, running his fingers through Yurio’s hair again, “His fever broke Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked surprised, pressing his hand against the teenager’s cheek. He looked back up at Viktor, relief masking his features, “I was so worried. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Viktor smiled again, reaching across Yurio, and running his thumb against Yuuri’s cheek lovingly, “You did a good job Yuuri. Better than I would have… trust me.”


	2. Babysitting Isn't Fun

Viktor hadn’t thought Yakov would agree to it… maybe that’s why he offered in the first place. Whether Yakov had finally run out of options and deemed Viktor a suitable guardian for the remaining two days in Chile, or he had completely lost his mind, Viktor didn’t know. Regardless of the reason, Viktor found himself lying across an armchair in Yakov’s tiny room, flipping through a pamphlet about Easter Island, listening to his Coach lecture him about Yurio. Viktor sighed loudly, dropping the pamphlet in his lap and looked up to see the older man throwing a scarf in his bag.

The competition had ended yesterday, leaving two free days before they had to return to Russia. Yakov, however, received an unpleasant phone call from his soon-to-be ex-wife about some issues with their divorce papers, thus demanding he returned at once to deal with it. Unfortunately, this left Yakov in a tight spot considering one plane ticket back to Russia was hard to find, let alone two. Viktor had found it funny, watching the older man pace back and forth in the hotel lobby at midnight, cursing the airport and talking to Yurio’s grandfather on the phone. It wasn’t until Viktor had blurted out that he’d be more than willing to watch the kid for the next two days that he realized his mistake, but like he said, he hadn’t really thought Yakov would have agreed to it in the first place.

However, because Viktor had been dumb enough to offer, he was stuck with Yurio for the next two days. Viktor ran a hand through his hair, letting the long strands fall loosely through his fingers. All he wanted to do was soak up as much fun as he could before his flight, but now, that was looking to be a difficult task. Yakov was rambling off some numbers that Viktor probably should have been writing down, and kneeling under the bed, hunting for his left shoe.

“Yakov, I’ve got this handled. It’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Yuri will run off. One less kid for you to teach,” Viktor joked. He laughed loudly as Yakov opened the night stand, cursing the empty drawer before turning to face Viktor, “Viktor, I’m serious. He’s only 12. If you lose him, Nikolai will have both our asses! Do you understand?” Yakov said sternly. All the humor was drained from his face now, and instead replaced with an uneasy look that Viktor had never seen before. Viktor felt a chill run down his spine, and crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes, “Da, I understand. I’m an adult, you know.”

“Vitya, you might be 24, but you are far from being an adult.” Yakov laughed loudly. He started throwing the pillows off the bed, cursing in Russian. His flight was in less than an hour and he still needed to get to the airport, but considering he couldn’t find his other shoe, the airport would have to wait. He looked up hearing the younger Russian sigh, and snorted, seeing Viktor crossing his arms over his chest, his lip sticking out. He reminded Yakov of Yurio sometimes.

“You know child, you look the same now as you did when you were 17… and you still act the same too,” Yakov said, a small smirk spreading across his face.

Viktor huffed loudly, throwing the pamphlet at Yakov as the older Russian continued to laugh. He sighed again and grabbed a hair tie from his wrist, pulling his hair into a ponytail. Sometimes he hated his long hair, it always seemed to get in the way. He sat up slowly, grabbing his phone from the table and looked around the room. He watched his Coach kneel to the ground again, pressing his face to the carpet, pushing his hand under the bed, searching for his shoe. Viktor smirked, opening the camera app in his phone, snapping a quick picture. He’d definitely upload that the moment Yakov left. **#Coachhaslosthismind, #Coachloseseverything…evenkids, or #Whoputthismanincharge?**

Viktor slide his phone in his back pocket and stood up, stretching, “Yakov?”

Yakov let out a muffled, “Hm?” He was halfway under the bed now, feeling for his missing shoe.

“Where’s Yuri?”

Yakov’s head popped up from under the bed quickly, panic etching across his face as he glanced around the room, “What? He was just here a few minutes ago! He- I swear- he- that boy is worse than you Vitya! He- I swear-”

Viktor sighed loudly, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go find him.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and kicked at the carpet under his feet before walking towards the door. The last two days in Chile were supposed to be an excuse for him to hang out with the remaining skaters, and have a good time soaking up as much culture, alcohol, and fun as he could before returning to his rigorous training schedule. But now he was stuck playing babysitter for a kid he barely knew. _Yeah, this was going to be fun._ He stopped briefly in front of the door before turning back towards Yakov, “Also, Yakov?”

Yakov sighed loudly, turning around to face Viktor, who stood in the doorway, “What boy? What do you want now?”

“Your other shoe is in the bag. It was the first thing you packed.” Viktor smirked, closing the door, hearing Yakov cursing his name.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………

“I don’t understand what the big deal was. I was just petting some old lady’s cat,” Yurio mumbled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. Viktor sighed loudly, “For the last time Yuri, I wasn’t mad. All I said was if you run off I’d have to come after you, otherwise Yakov and your grandfather would have both our asses.”

Viktor glanced across the table at the small boy. Yurio had been in the hotel lobby, playing with one of the small kittens an elderly lady had brought with her from Germany while visiting her grandchildren. The only reason Viktor knew this was because the elder lady would not shut up. She stood and talked to Viktor for what had to be a good two hours, discussing her plans while visiting, and trying her best to give Viktor her eldest granddaughter’s phone number. It took several attempts, and a fake phone call before Viktor had managed to free himself from their conversation, dragging a displeased Yurio behind him.

Yurio slouched further in his chair, picking at the food in front of him, “I highly doubt you would be able to chase after me, old man.”

Viktor choked on the drink he’d been sipping nervously before setting it down on the table. He ran a hand through his hair, tightening his ponytail and leaned forward, “How old do you think I am, exactly?”

Yurio shrugged, slamming the fork down on the table, “I dunno, like 40.”

“I’m not that old,” Viktor laughed softly.

“Compared to me, you’re ancient. Tell me, what was the Big Bang actually like, hm?” Yurio mumbled. Viktor eyed him. He knew from previous encounters and from hearing Yakov’s conversations, that Yurio had an attitude. He also knew he didn’t play well with others, and had a hard time fitting in with the other skaters. This was something Viktor hoped he’d never lose- a diehard determination, and a self-determined motivation. Considering the young skater was quickly making a name for himself, and had managed to earn a spot in the senior division next year, Yurio’s little fuck-it-all attitude would come in handy, and push him to try harder than anyone else.

Viktor raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat, “You know Yuri, that attitude will get you in trouble one day.”

Yurio kicked the table underneath him and turned to face the couple sitting next to them, “Whatever geezer.”

Viktor sighed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and turned towards the bar across the street. He sighed again, spotting Chris and a few others laughing, slapping each other on the back playfully. _At least they seemed like they were having a good time._

“You can go over there, you know?”

Viktor turned back to face Yurio. The boy was sitting up in his chair now, playing with his food again. He dropped his fork once more and looked up at Viktor, a blank expression painted across his face. Viktor shook his head, and smiled softly, taking another sip from his drink, “I’m here with you, so why would I go over there?”

“Look, we both know neither one of us really wants to be here. You can go over there, I won’t tell.”

Viktor exhaled and pointed towards Yurio’s food, “You should really eat something.”

Yurio shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest again. He shivered slightly and Viktor raised an eyebrow. It was nearly 90 degrees outside and yet the kid was wearing a sweatshirt. It hadn’t really seemed questionable until now. He grabbed Yurio’s hand from across the table and pulled the boy closer, causing him to stand up. Yurio squirmed in Viktor’s grasp, causing Viktor to tighten his grip. He eyed the boy carefully, taking in his features. Yurio yanked at his hand again, “What are you doing? Let go of me you buffoon!”

Viktor dropped his hand as the boy sank back in his chair, rubbing his wrist and staring at Viktor. “Viktor what the hell!” He yelled loudly, slamming his fist against the small table. Viktor continued to stare, his eyes scanning over the boy’s pale face. He didn’t look sick, just tired. Then again, he highly doubted Yurio would tell him if he was ill, and to be completely honest, Viktor wouldn’t either. But Yakov wouldn’t leave him with a sick boy, would he? He sighed loudly, faking a yawn and thrust his arms in the air, stretching noisily. He ran another hand through his hair and looked back down at the kid sitting in front of him, “I’m tired. How about we call it a night, da?”

Yurio glared at him from across the table. He let go of his wrist and forced his hands in his hoodie pocket. His head and stomach were beginning to hurt, and sleep sounded like a good idea. He nodded softly, feeling a chill run down his spine as the older Russian continued to stare. It was off-putting and creepy, and it made Yurio’s skin crawl. Viktor smiled again, and stood gently, holding his hand out for the boy to grab. He snorted as Yurio stood, smacking his hand away from him, pushing his hand back in his pocket, and shoved past him, walking towards the hotel.  
……………………………………………………….

Yurio woke with a gasp. He laid there, shivering as a cold sweat broke out over his body, and his stomach turned violently. He curled in on himself, letting out a soft groan, listening to Viktor snoring softly from the other bed. He swallowed as an uncomfortable warmth washed over him. He really didn’t feel well. Honestly, he hadn’t since this morning but with Yakov leaving, he wasn’t really going to voice his distress to Viktor.

Yurio could handle being sick, he was almost 13. Besides, if he was old enough to travel to foreign Countries alone, then he should be able to take care of himself. Still, a part of him wished Viktor would wake up, at least then he’d have someone to talk to, someone to share his pain. His stomach lurched, and Yurio bolted out of bed, nearly tripping over the blankets tangled between his feet. He slammed against the tiled floor in the middle of the bathroom, puking up acidic bile and the little food he’d eaten that day. He coughed loudly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and stood up shakily, closing the door behind him slowly. He felt tears well in his eyes as he stared at the mess on the floor, and knelt gently next to the toilet. His stomach groaned again and Yurio thrust his head into the ceramic basin, puking up another wave of stomach acid.

He coughed again, feeling the room around him heating up and wiped at the tears falling down his face. God, he felt sick. His head was spinning and the heat coursing through his small body was making it hard to concentrate. He coughed loudly as his stomach cramped again, and let out a half-choked sob, feeling the slimy liquid rising in his throat. He wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted Viktor to wake up… or maybe he didn’t. He wasn’t really sure. He pressed his forehead against the cold seat on the toilet, swallowing repeatedly, willing his body to stop.

…………………………………………………………………………

Viktor wasn’t really sure what woke him. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the red digits displayed on the alarm clock: 04:24am. He groaned softly, stretching his arms and spreading out on the bed. He could normally sleep through anything, storms, hail, tornados, fire alarms, hell he once slept through an earthquake; but for some reason he woke with a start, an uneasy feeling lurking in the back of his mind.

He sat up slowly, listening to the soft pattering of the rain outside the hotel window, shivering as the cold air touched his skin. He stretched again, running a hand through his hair and looked over to see an empty bed next to him. He flicked on the light on the bedside table and blinked a few times, letting his vision adjust to the soft light. He looked around the room trying to figure out where the boy ran off to, when he heard coughing coming from the small bathroom.

Viktor frowned, pushing himself off the bed, and walked softly over towards the bathroom. He knocked on the door gently, “Yuri?” He paused for a moment, not wanting to walk in on the boy if he was just using the bathroom. Viktor leaned against the wall next to the door, waiting for Yurio to answer. He heard another cough and winced. The boy sounded sick. Viktor should have known. He knocked again, letting his hand hover over the handle loosely. Viktor felt a chill run down his spine as retching echoed from behind the door. _Shit!_

He pushed the door open quickly, taking in the sight of the small bathroom. The boy was definitely sick, and by the looks of it, he’d been for some time. Yurio was huddled around the toilet, clutching at the white porcelain as if it was his only lifeline, choking up whatever was trying to leave his body. Viktor shuddered as he glanced at the floor in front of him. Vomit was splattered across the floor, and painted down the boy’s front. Viktor felt guilt wash over him. He was a crappy babysitter. It was his job, for at least two days, to make sure Yurio made it to the airport without dying, and it seemed Viktor couldn’t even wake up when the kid probably needed him the most. He sucked in a shaky breath, stepping into the small bathroom, “Yuri?”

Yurio looked up slowly, resting his head against the toilet seat. He shivered, feeling his stomach lurch again as Viktor stepped into the tiny bathroom. _What was Viktor doing here? Where was his grandpa- wait no. His grandpa was in Russia, so, where was he?_ He coughed loudly, spitting mucus in the toilet, and turned back to look at Viktor with a groan. His vision swarmed again and he felt his heart beginning to pound against his chest as Viktor stepped closer. _Why was Viktor here? Where was he?_

Yurio scooted back slowly, standing to a swaying world as Viktor called to him again. The bathroom seemed off-kilter and bright, and Yurio squinted against the harsh lights. His head was killing him, and he felt like the once cold bathroom was now a hundred degrees. _Why was Viktor here? Where were they? Why was it so hot? No, why was it so cold?_ Yurio saw Viktor’s hand reach for him and he flinched, letting out a strangled shout.

Yurio slammed into the wall behind him with a loud smack. His heart was racing, and his vision wavered for a second as he stared at Viktor. Sweat was pouring down his face, dripping in his eyes and burning against his skin. He felt his knees buckle and crashed against the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and crossing his arms around him, shivering. He tried shaking his head to clear his vision but that only made his headache worse. He wanted his grandpa. His grandpa could make him feel better.

Viktor stepped closer, bending down slowly, confusion and worry clouding his face. He tucked a strand of his long silver hair behind his ear. “Yura?” He asked slowly, taking another step closer, grimacing as his foot collided with the vomit that decorated the tiled floor. The boy pressed himself closer to the wall trying to make himself small, tears still streaming down his face. He looked utterly terrified, and this concerned Viktor deeply. Yurio flinched as Viktor reached for him, letting out a choked sob, “Get away from me! Don’t hurt me!”

Viktor stopped, kneeling to the ground a few feet in front of the boy. The puke that was beginning to soak through his pajama pants was momentarily disregarded as panic flooded his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and took in the sight of the young boy before him. Yurio was shivering, but whether it was from the temperature in the chilly bathroom, emotional distress, or pure exhaustion, Viktor didn’t know. His face was coated with sweat, plastering his blonde hair to his face chaotically, and his clothes were an utter mess of vomit, sweat, and tears. Viktor sighed as he noted the pink tint that highlighted Yurio’s cheeks, and painted across his nose. Even from a few feet away Viktor could feel the heat radiating off him. His fever was high, that’s why he was afraid.

He sat there for a while, no longer caring about the mess in the bathroom, but instead on what he should do. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember what his mother use to do when he or his little sister were ill. He bit his bottom lip as memories flooded back to him, and sucked in a harsh breath, swallowing back tears. What had his mother done? What had she done when he came home with a high fever? He didn’t remember much, just… _water._ He remembered her forcing him in the shower. Viktor opened his eyes and pushed himself off the floor, walking over to the tub. He grabbed the hair tie off his wrist and pulled his long hair back into a messy bun, hoping it would be out of harm’s way. He turned the knob, letting the water run until it was lukewarm, testing it on his hand first, before turning back towards the small boy.

He bent down slowly, putting his hands out in front of him, “Yurochka,” he said softly as if talking to a scared animal, “listen to me honey, your fever is really high. I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to cool you off, da?” Viktor took a step closer causing the young boy to cry louder, tears rushing down his face. Yurio pressed his chin to his knees, “Don’t touch me!”

“Yuri, honey, remember what I just said. I’m not going to hurt you,” Viktor said gently. Yurio blinked a few times trying to clear his fevered mind, trying to remember where he was. He felt like his skin was burning him alive, and his headache was making it hard to concentrate. He wanted his Grandpa. Hell, he wanted Yakov. He wanted someone to make him feel better, and he couldn’t understand why Viktor was the only one here. Viktor was just inches away from the trembling kid now. He winced as he pressed his hand against the boy’s cheek, feeling the burning heat scorching beneath his hand. Yurio sobbed, “I-I want g-grandpa.”

Viktor felt his heart break, and tears well in his eyes. It was easy when he was sick because he no longer yearned for his parents, he hadn’t since they kicked him out, but Viktor was also 24, so he was grown enough to be able to look after himself… mostly. But Yurio on the other hand, was just a boy, he was still a child, something a lot of people in the skating community seemed to forget. Viktor couldn’t possibly imagine what the 12-year-old was feeling, being ill, feeling sweaty and miserable, stuck in a tiny bathroom, in a foreign country, with an older skater he barely knew. Fucking hell, it would have been better to at least have Yakov here. At least Yurio knew him better than Viktor.

Viktor smiled sadly, tucking a loose strand of sweaty hair behind the boy’s ear tenderly, “I know lyublyu, but he’s not here. Just me, and I really need to bring your fever down. The shower will cool you off, and make you feel better, obeshchayu.”

Yurio glanced quickly at the water splashing against the tub behind Viktor. He watched in terror as it fell from the faucet loudly, drenching the sides of the tub as it connected with the harsh ceramic ground; it made his skin crawl, and his heart race. He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, digging his fingernails into his legs. Seriously, where the hell were they? He turned back to Viktor, shaking his head fearfully, “Nyet, I-I don’t want to!”

Viktor sighed softly, “I know Yuri. And I’m really sorry.” He bit his bottom lip, guilt coursing through him as he pried the boy’s arms away from his knees harshly. Yurio tried to yank them back, he tried to smack Viktor away; he didn’t want to go in the water, he didn’t want to get wet. The idea of letting something cold touch his skin, made his stomach flip, and struck fear in his heart. He kicked at Viktor, hoping to stop the older skater, but his movements were uselessly slow and ineffective. Viktor sucked in a shaky breath as the boy screamed again, choking out incoherent Russian, begging Viktor to stop. Viktor picked him up off the floor, and pressed him to his chest as the boy continued to struggle.

It wasn’t until the water touched their skin that Yurio’s screams became disordered pleading. He smacked Viktor again, pulling at the loose strands of hair that had escaped the hair tie, screaming for Viktor to help. He tried prying himself away from Viktor’s strong grasp, angry curse words leaving his mouth roughly. Viktor felt tears gliding down his face as he held the boy closer, whispering soft Russian to him, trying to calm the boy down. Yurio cried for his grandfather, he cried for Yakov, and finally, he cried for Viktor.

Yurio was shaking. The water washing over him burned his skin, and made his stomach turn violently. He retched loudly, feeling nothing but foul tasting saliva leave his mouth and drip down his chin. He cried again, begging Viktor to let him out, pleading for Viktor to help. His stomach heaved again, having nothing left to throw up, and instead resulted in sloppy hiccups. Snot ran down Yurio’s face, mixing with the tears that left his eyes, and Yurio grasped again at Viktor’s soiled shirt.

Viktor bit his lip again, pressing the boy tighter against his chest, praying he wasn’t hurting him. He shuddered as memories flooded back to him, remembering the panic he felt when the water had touched his overheated skin as a child. He inhaled loudly, remembering his mother trying to calm him down, remembering her singing to him. Viktor ran his hand over the boy’s back as Yurio heaved again. Yurio coughed loudly, “Vik*hic*tor, p-p*hic*le-lease.”

“Shh, it’s okay love. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” Viktor whispered softly, running his hand once more through the boy’s messy wet hair. Yurio coughed again, his limbs growing heavy and slow. His body beginning to feel tired, and he smacked his cheek against Viktor’s shoulder, whimpering softly for Viktor to stop. He coughed again, feeling his hands relaxing around Viktor’s shirt, falling loosely at his sides. His skin wasn’t burning as much, but his head was spinning.

Viktor shifted the boy gently in his arms, feeling Yurio go slack against him as the boy began to relax. He wiped the tears that still fell down his face with his free shoulder, and rubbed gentle circles on Yurio’s back. Yurio groaned, and Viktor chuckled softly as hiccups began to echo from the small boy cradled in his arms.

The older Russian stood there under the shower, letting the lukewarm water drip over them, rubbing Yurio’s back, and humming to him softly. He pressed his lips against the smaller boy’s forehead, frowning slightly, feeling the burning heat still present against the 12-year-olds temple. Yurio groaned again, and Viktor shushed him gently, “Shh Yuri, just relax. It’s alright. Shh.”

“G-grandpa?” Yurio asked softly. He tried to move his arms to wipe the water dripping down his face but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He felt tired, and blinked slowly, hoping to stop the room from spinning. He coughed again, pressing his forehead against Viktor’s neck, taking in the strong aroma of soap, vodka, and strangely, peppermints. Viktor laughed softly, rubbing his hand over the boy’s shoulder blades, “Sorry Yurochka. Just Viktor.”

“V-Viktor?” Yurio groaned again. Why was Viktor here?

“Hm?”

Yurio coughed loudly. His mind was foggy and he sniffed as the water continued to wash over him. He felt cooler now, and the water that soaked through his clothes felt warm and comforting. His body felt sluggish, and his eyes were harder to keep open. He felt Viktor’s hand on his back, and closed his eyes, listening to his soft humming. He was so tired.  
The bathroom was quiet except for the steady pitter-patter of water that splashed against the ground, and the soft hiccups that echoed from Yurio. Viktor sighed, turning the water up slightly as he felt the boy shift, and ran a hand through his hair. He stood there, humming the tune to one of the songs his mother used to sing to him when he was a boy, biting his lip as childhood memories flooded back to him in waves. He faltered for a second as his father’s words echoed loudly though his mind, _I don’t have a son, not anymore!_

Viktor wiped at some of the tears forming in his eyes and shivered against the lukewarm water touching his skin. He was getting cold, but if it was helping the kid, then Viktor would be more than happy to endure it.

Yurio whimpered loudly, grasping weakly at some of the fabric at the bottom of Viktor’s shirt. Viktor shifted the kid to his other side, running his other hand over the boy’s back, and began humming a different song- one Lilia sang to him once when he couldn’t sleep. Viktor smiled softly, closing his eyes and rested his chin on the top of Yurio’s wet hair, listening to the kid’s breathing begin to even out.

…………………………………………………………………….

“Yuri, you’re supposed to be in bed.” Viktor said sternly. He finished drying his hair with the towel, and turned to face the small boy. Yurio cast his glance down as Viktor flashed him a stern look. It had taken Viktor nearly two hours of standing under the warm shower for the 12-year-old to finally fall asleep, not to mention, for his fever to begin to drop. After he’d gently woken the boy, getting him to change into some dry clothes while Viktor dried his hair, he still had to deal with the mess in the bathroom, which took another hour. When he’d finally finished, he checked to make sure Yurio was still soundly asleep, before taking what had to be, the quickest shower of his life. Now, however, as Viktor opened to the door, he was surprised to see the small boy standing in the hallway, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, dragging on the floor.

“I-I, my grandpa, when I don’t feel well, he- sometimes he lays with me till if fall sleep…” Yurio trailed off, digging his toes further in the floor, hugging the blanket tighter around his skinny frame. He glanced up shyly at Viktor before looking down again at the ugly carpet. Viktor stood there for a moment, shock and confusion sweeping over him. Yurio never, even being how young he was, knowingly sought out attention. Worry coursed through him because Yurio was acting so out of character. Then it clicked. The boy was lonely. Of course.  
Viktor smiled warmly before stretching loudly, “Come on Yuri, let’s go back to bed.”

He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, and led him to the messy tangled sheets. Light was beginning to seep through the curtains, and Viktor walked over, pulling them closer together, hoping to prevent daylight from oozing through. No avail. He sighed loudly and turned back towards Yurio, and chuckled softly. Yurio was a bundle of blankets and pillows, and Viktor fought the urge to grab his phone to take a picture. Instead he sat on the bed next to the 12-year-old, who seemed to scoot closer to Viktor.

The older Russian ran his hand through Yurio’s hair, feeling the feverish warmth beneath his bangs. Viktor sighed. He was relieved the boy wasn’t burning like he had been earlier, but he still felt worry in the pit of his stomach. He’d probably have to hunt for some children’s Motrin or something later. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost 8am now, and despite it being their last day in Chile, there was no way in hell Viktor was going to drag the kid out in the heat.

Viktor smiled softly as Yurio’s breathing evened out. The boy would probably sleep most of the day, and honestly, Viktor didn’t blame him because he’d probably do the same. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, turning the ringer on silent. He groaned loudly, seeing he had 18 missed calls from Yakov. He was definitely going to get a lecture from Yakov about this. He placed the phone back on the nightstand before turning back towards the boy. Viktor pulled the blanket further around Yurio’s shoulder, running his hand through the boy’s hair once more.

He leaned back against the headboards as Yurio shifted in his sleep. Viktor pulled his hair back again, tying it with one of the many hair ties littered across the nightstand, and crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the world’s greatest babysitter, but all-in-all, he had to be doing okay.


	3. Thank You For Being You

The first time he’d been sick during a competition, he was 9. Afterwards, through a fevered haze and river of tears, he remembered his parents yelling because he had lost despite still proceeding to the nationals. The last time he’d been sick, he had wound up in the hospital after passing out in the hotel lobby while giving an interview about his latest win. He didn’t remember much, except the awful headache that followed as he pried his eyes open to the harsh lights and loud monitors in the hospital room. He remembered being confused, and like most teenagers, scared, questioning the location of his parents.

His parents hadn’t been there, not because they hadn’t cared, but because they had cared about the wrong thing. He remembered turning on the television a day later to see his father giving an interview about Viktor’s latest win at Nationals, and watching his mother give a tearful speech about the state of health her only son was in. Not that he really remembered much but according to the nurse, Viktor’s parents hadn’t been to see him once. This really wasn’t surprising to him, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. And it hadn’t been until Yakov had driven to the hospital to take him home, that Viktor finally understood and broke down, crying.

Since then, Viktor had been pretty good about staying healthy, overlooking illnesses, and knowing his limits. But now, despite the 3 aspirin he’d swallowed an hour ago, Viktor was finding it hard to stay focused. He brought his hand to his mouth, coughing harshly, wincing as the cold air from the rink touched his raw throat. He didn’t really want to be here, but since it involved Yuuri, Viktor would do anything he could to ensure his fiancé’s happiness. He felt pride swell in his chest as he watched his boyfriend skate to the center of the ice, and waved cheerfully as Yuuri glanced in his direction. He leaned against the rail heavily, fighting the urge to drop his head against the cold metal, and squinted towards Yuuri’s direction. His head was killing him.

“He doesn’t know you’re sick, eh geezer?” Someone said softly. Viktor turned to see Yurio standing next to him, his hair pulled back in a tight braid, and a big hoodie swallowing his tiny frame. Viktor stood up straighter, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not sick,” he said roughly. God even his voice was hoarse.

Yurio snorted, turning to give Viktor a questionable look, “Yeah, whatever you have to tell yourself, Vitya. Look, I’ve known you a lot longer than that pig, so he might not be able to tell when you’re ill, but I can… also, Yakov told me.” Yurio said, pointing behind him. Viktor turned to see Yakov talking to some reporters, his eyes fixed on Viktor.

Viktor coughed softly, and turned back around to watch Yuuri. He should have known Yakov would know something was off, he always did. Yakov was always good at knowing that kind of thing, which made lying to him difficult because he could read Viktor like a book- it probably didn’t help that Viktor had lived with him and Lilia for a few months either, so Yakov knew more about Viktor than most people. Viktor felt something jab him in the ribs, and turned back to face the Russian punk, an eyebrow raised. Yurio pulled the ponytail from his hair, running his hand through the tight braids, “I’m camping in Ota’s room tonight. No telling what germs old people carry. Da?”

Viktor smirked slightly before nodding. Yurio sighed loudly, turning to leave, “You won’t be able to hide it for long Viktor. Besides Yuuri isn’t anything like your parents… that would be creepy.” The teenager thrust his hands in his pockets, and bumped Viktor’s shoulder gently, before walking back over to Yakov. Viktor swallowed and turned back towards the ice. He closed his eyes as the room began to spin and waited for the music to start. He knew Yurio was right, he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. He shuddered as his mother’s face flashed across his mind.

………………………………………………………………………………….

_She was standing over him, yelling at him while he clutched at the blisters on his left foot. Blood had begun to soak through his sock, and he yanked it off to reveal the cuts and bruises littering his heel. He remembered crying, begging his mother for a break, watching the other 5-year-olds pushing each other on the ice playfully. He just wanted to be like them..._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Viktor cleared his throat as he opened his eyes. The music had begun to play and he watched as Yuuri danced gracefully over the ice. He smiled brightly. God, he loved that pork cutlet bowl, more than anything in the world. He swallowed loudly, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. He leaned further against the rail, waiting for it to pass. He started feeling ill when they woke up yesterday, but it wasn’t until this morning that Viktor realized that choking down a few extra vitamins weren’t going to help him.

He breathed shallowly, listening to the music, hoping for a distraction. He ran his hand through his hair again and cleared his throat. His vision wavered again and Viktor wondered how much aspirin he’d be able to consume within the next 10 minutes without dying. He coughed again, and turned to look at Yakov once more. Yakov had finished his interview and instead stood in front of Yurio, his hands waving madly. A small smile crossed over Viktor’s face- Yurio was most likely in trouble, like always.

The crowd cheered and Viktor thrust his attention back towards Yuuri. Yuuri had nailed one of his jumps. Viktor’s smile grew even bigger and he waved again as Yuuri glanced towards him.  
……………………………………………………………………………

Once Yuuri’s feet touched the carpet, Viktor knew he needed to leave. Yuuri’s performance had been phenomenal, and if Viktor wasn’t currently fighting a losing battle with his stomach, he would have run onto the ice to shower his fiancé in praise and kisses. Now however, Viktor was finding it hard to see straight; his head was pounding viciously and the lights from the arena felt like tiny daggers digging into his skull every time one flashed in his direction. He grabbed their bags off the floor harshly, and headed towards the locker room hearing Yuuri calling after him. Viktor closed his eyes for a second as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and put his hand to his head, trying to rub his headache away. He leaned against the wall, wincing as Yuuri’s scores were called over the loud speaker. A smile broke out over his face, Yuuri was in 2nd place so far.

“Viktor! Viktor, did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?” Yuuri said softly, grabbing a hold of Viktor’s wrist. Viktor felt his blood run cold as he opened his eyes and looked down at the tears gathering in Yuuri’s eyes. He wiped them away softly with tip of his thumb, biting his lip, feeling another wave of nausea wash over him. He swallowed thickly, and shook his head. He tried to smile, honestly, he did, but his headache was getting worse, making everything blurry and bright. He glanced up at the harsh lights above them, wincing as the next skater was announced over the intercom. He really needed to leave. He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and looked down once more to see Yuuri staring at him, worry painted across his face. Great, Viktor was making him panic. He felt guilty.

“Y-you were amazing love,” he said gently. His voice wavered and Viktor swallowed again because it was all that he could manage right now. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be around paparazzi and people with camera phones, the idea of causing another big scene so soon after Yurio’s “vomit fest,” made chills run down Viktor’s spine… or maybe that was the fever, he wasn’t really sure. He really didn’t want to be here… especially with Yuuri. He didn’t want Yuuri to know he was sick but he had a feeling that ship was about to sail.  
He pulled his hand out of Yuuri’s grasp and stifled a cough. He felt the bags drop from his shoulder. It really didn’t matter if he was sick now, because, considering Viktor shared a room and a bed with Yuuri, his pork cutlet would find out eventually. Like Yurio said, Viktor couldn’t hide it forever, no matter how much he wanted too. _Yuuri’s nothing like your parents Vitya…_

………………………………………………………………………………………

_Viktor stifled a cough behind his hand and took a shallow breath. He could hear his parent’s cheering from the sidelines and he bit back a wince. He could feel blood beginning to seep through his right sock from the rigorous practice he’d had every single day leading up to this competition. He didn’t really mind it, but since his parents were strict, this made certain situations 10x worse._

_He closed his eyes and waited for the music to begin, wiping some sweat that had begun to form on his forehead. He felt like shit, and the blood from one of the blisters on his foot, wasn’t helping. He coughed again, feeling a wave of nausea course through him and he swallowed loudly. There was no way in hell he was going to tell his parents he was sick, just like there was no way in hell he was going to mention that he spent the whole night in the bathroom, puking up, what had to be, everything that he’d eaten in last few days._

_The last time he’d told them he was sick, they’d forced him to choke down like 8 Tylenol and then drove him to practice. It wasn’t until he practically fainted on the ice, that Yakov sent him home stating that if he didn’t feel well, he shouldn’t be practicing. His parents weren’t abusive, just harsh. They hated it when he got sick, not because he was ill, but because he couldn’t preform or do his best- because he couldn’t win._

_He sneezed loudly and opened his eyes to a spinning arena. He blinked a few times, blocking out the praises coming from his mother, and looked over at Yakov. He snorted as he watched Yakov stand next to his parents, motionless, a scowl present on his face. He turned back towards the lights, feeling his body begin to shake. This wasn’t good. He had an interview in the hotel lobby after this about next season, and he wasn’t even sure if he could make it through his competition. He sighed loudly as the music started._

…………………………………………………………………………………….

“Viktor? Are you okay?” Yuuri asked softy. Viktor blinked a few times as Yuuri’s face came back into focus. He had zoned out, that tended to happen when he was feverish. He nodded slowly as his stomach flipped, and he gulped loudly. He took a shallow breath, realizing his breakfast was going to make a reappearance very soon. Viktor looked around the hallway, spotting the locker room a few feet ahead, and pushed past Yuuri.

He made it about 10 feet before his legs gave out and he slammed against the wall, hard. He heard Yuuri yelp, and felt a strong hand wrap around his torso and shoulder, pulling him up. The room did a full 180 and Viktor clenched his eyes shut. He felt his feet moving but he wasn’t really sure where he was being directed, but he hoped it was somewhere with a bathroom. He groaned loudly as his stomach lurched and he swallowed compulsively. “It’s okay Vitya. Hang in there a little bit longer,” he heard Yuuri say softy. He felt the grip around his torso tighten and assumed Yuuri was to one holding him up.

His stomach lurched again and Viktor forced his eyes open. The locker room swirled in a multitude of colors and it took everything Viktor had to keep his eyes open. His breathing quickened slightly, and he felt a warmth wash over him as Yuuri opened one of the stall door towards the end. Viktor pushed away from Yuuri dizzily and smacked against the tiled floor, choking up the acidic bile and predigested food. He coughed harshly, sucking in a sharp breath as he hung his head over the toilet weakly. It took him a second before he realized Yuuri’s hand was on his back, and he glanced to his left slightly to see his fiancé sitting next to him, concern etching across his face.

Viktor’s stomach heaved again and he thrust his head back towards the ceramic basin, lurching violently. He didn’t want Yuuri to be here. He didn’t want Yuuri to yell at him, or to be mad… like his parents always did/ were. He wasn’t really sure if he could take that right now.

He exhaled shakily, hearing Yuuri saying something but he was too tired to listen. He scooted back against the wall and struggled to pull his arm from his jacket. He felt Yuuri grab his arm gently and tug his jacket off before hanging it on one of the hooks on the door. Viktor groaned again, leaning his head against the wall weakly. He wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep… and for the room to stop spinning. He felt sweat drip down his face and tried to move his hand to wipe it from his cheeks, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick!” Yuuri said softly, wiping some of the sweat from Viktor’s forehead gently with his jacket sleeve. He felt guilt wash over him. He was Viktor’s fiancé, he should have known. Yuuri pressed his lips gently against Viktor’s forehead, letting out a small gasp as he felt the heat burning against his lips. Viktor looked up dazedly, seeing the tears welling in Yuuri’s eyes again, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Yuuri looked hurt. Viktor bit his bottom lip as his father’s voice echoed through his mind and his mother’s disappointed gaze was cast upon him. _If you can’t skate or interview with a small fever and a stomachache, then you shouldn’t be a skater Vitya!_

Viktor felt tears streaming down his face as he let out a half-choked sob, pulling his knees towards him, trying to hug his body. He cast his gaze towards Yuuri’s feet, not wanting to look his fiancé in the eye, not wanting to see the disappointment. He coughed again as he sucked in a ragged breath.

“I-I’m sorry Yuuri! Please don’t be mad,” Viktor sobbed harshly. He clutched his knees to his chest as he continued to cry. He glanced up at Yuuri to see a panicked look painted across his face, and Viktor swallowed loudly. He felt snot dripping from his nose as tears streamed down his face and he choked back another sob, “Please Yuuri. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Yuuri stared at Viktor, panicked worry coursing through his veins. He bit his lip, pulling some tissues from the box in Viktor’s bag, and tried his best to wipe the tears that ran down his fiancé’s face. He had never seen Viktor like this. Yuuri felt his breathing hitch slightly.

“Vik- Vitya, baby, I’m not mad. I would never be mad over something you couldn’t control. Oh god, Viktor honey, please stop crying, please calm down,” Yuuri felt his throat tighten and he sucked in a shaky breath. He needed to calm down, he needed to breath, he was on the verge of having a panic attack, and something told him that that wouldn’t help Viktor’s current situation. He grasped one of Viktor’s hands in his, more for his benefit than Viktor’s because he needed to feel something right now, something to keep him from panicking. It was different when Yurio was sick because Yuuri had Viktor to rely on. But now, well Yuuri hardly doubted the smaller Russian would be able to help him; besides, Viktor was his fiancé so Yuuri needed to figure this out on his own.

Yuuri rummaged in his bag, grabbing his water bottle, unscrewing the cap and shaking it gently in front of Viktor. Viktor shook his head, pushing it away from him, tears still streaming down his pale face. Yuuri bit his lip, “Viktor, honey, I k-know you think I’m mad, but I promise you, I’m not. I’m so sorry but I-I really need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to h-have a panic attack, and that won’t help either of us right now.”

Viktor looked at Yuuri, and Yuuri felt his heart snap into a million pieces. Viktor’s eyebrows scrunched together, confusion masking over his face as he stared at Yuuri. Tears were water falling down his face, and Yuuri sucked in another harsh breath. Viktor looked so lost and innocent, and it hurt to see him like this. Yuuri coughed and bit his lip as understanding washed over Viktor’s features. He nodded softly, wiping away some of the tears and snot spilling down his face.

Viktor let out a harsh cough, groaning softly. He felt another wave of dizziness wash over him as Yuuri shook the water once more in front of his face. He was tired, and hot. The jacket that he’d stripped from his body haphazardly hadn’t helped lessen the heat that flowed through his body. He grabbed the water, raising to his mouth shakily and took several sloppy drinks before handing it back to Yuuri.

He felt his stomach flip as bile rushed up his throat and Viktor thrust his head over the toilet, puking up the small amount of water he had just consumed and what little stomach acid he had left. He groaned loudly as he felt Yuuri’s hand on his back, and turned weakly to see a double image of his fiancé. “I-I need to lie d-down,” he whispered softly, wincing as the words raked against his already raw throat. He moved slowly, resting his head in Yuuri’s lap, curling his long legs to his chest as the room continued to spin.

“I-I don’t feel well Yuuri,” Viktor choked out, closing his eyes. Yuuri sighed loudly, pressing his hand against Viktor’s forehead again. Viktor was burning up, and despite caring for a sick Yurio several times before, Yuuri had no idea how to care for a sick Viktor. Yuuri let out another shaky breath, “I know honey, and I’m really sorry. How about I call a cab, and help you off this dirty floor. We’ll go back to the hotel and you can go to sleep. I think we still have some left-over flu medicine from when Yurio got sick a few weeks ago… I saw it in one of the bags yesterday. I guess I forgot to take it out. Does that sound okay?”

Viktor nodded weakly. He let out another sigh, listening to Yuuri talking to someone on the phone, who Viktor could only assume through his fevered haze, was the cabbie. He felt Yuuri shift his legs under his head and whimpered loudly, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Viktor,” Yuuri said quickly, stiffening, not wanting to cause his fiancé anymore unnecessary discomfort. He ran his hand over Viktor’s sweaty back, listening to the cheers and claps coming from the crowd outside. He gripped his phone tightly in his hand waiting for the cabbie to call, and wondered slightly, if Viktor couldn’t stand on his own, how he was going to help him to the car, considering the Russian was noticeably taller than him.  
Yuuri shook this thought away as he wiped some tears that continued to fall from Viktor’s eyes. Viktor opened his eyes slowly, gazing up at Yuuri; his blue eyes clouded with fevered exhaustion. Yuuri bent down and kissed the side of Viktor’s temple gently, smiling slightly as he heard Viktor sigh. “Vitya, can I ask you a question?” He asked softly, running his fingers through the loose sweaty strands of Viktor’s silver hair. He felt the Russian skater nodded slightly, choking out a soft, “Da.”

Yuuri took a breath, “Why would you ever think I was mad?”

Viktor cringed, new tears pricking at his eyes now, and despite the dizziness that still enveloped him, he pushed himself off the floor and away from Yuuri weakly, pressing his overheated back against the tiled wall. He swallowed quickly as his stomach tried to readjust to the sudden movement and smack his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes again. He crossed his arms over his stomach lazily and flinched as he felt something cool touch his forehead. It took him a few fevered minutes to realize that Yuuri was pressing a wet paper towel to his forehead. Yuuri must have gotten up at some point, or maybe Viktor was taking longer to respond that he thought- he always seemed to lose track of time when he was sick. He opened his eyes after the dizziness passed, and shivered slightly, “M-my parents, when I got sick at competitions, they were always mad. Force of habit, I guess… I-ugh- c-can I have some more water please.”

Yuuri nodded softly, grabbing his bottle again and unscrewing the cap. He held it against Viktor’s mouth, allowing him to take several small sips before setting it back down on the ground next to him. He folded the paper towel he was holding and pressed it gently against Viktor’s cheeks, then forehead. Yuuri bit his bottom lip. “What happened to your parents Vitya?” He asked softly. The Russian skater very seldom talked about his parents, or his family for that matter. Every now and then, Viktor would tell Yuuri about something that happened in his childhood, or he would catch Viktor discussing his family with Yurio after one of his nightmares about his grandfather, to get him to calm down.

Viktor shook his head gently before laughing quietly, “Nothing. The last I heard they moved to Berlin. My sister was accepted to an academy there, and they couldn’t bear the thought of losing their only child.”

“What do you mean their only child? Viktor, you’re their son… right?” Yuuri winced as the last word left his mouth. He felt tears welling in his eyes, spilling over their tired rims as Viktor looked up, a soft sad smile plastered to his face. Viktor had silent tears glistening against his cheeks again, and Yuuri ran a hand through his hair shakily, dreading the answer.

“My parents were thrilled to have a son who could accomplish so much at such a young age. They loved watching me skate, and pushed me harder than anyone I’ve ever met because they wanted me to achieve greatness. This… this wasn’t always a good thing… being pushed so hard, I mean. I was sick constantly, and my parents dealt with it just as Yurio would, by forcing me to power through it- one of the reasons I still do it today, I guess,” Viktor paused for a second, coughing harshly, “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate them doing that but I’ve ended up in the hospital several times, and lectured by Yakov for skating when I had a high fever, sprain ankle, or something, some major illness or injury that put me out for several days or weeks, even.”

Yuuri wiped some of the tears gathering at Viktor’s chin, and scooted closer. Viktor was watching him intently through half shut eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to make his vision clearer and blink away the exhaustion that was currently coursing through his aching body. He wiped his eyes, and cleared his throat softly, “When I was 16, after the Berlin Nationals, I was giving an interview about my goals for the next season.”

Yuuri nodded, “Yeah, I remember. You passed out on live television. I lived on social media for like four days, just trying to see if you were okay. I remember your mom said it was exhaustion.”

Viktor smiled weakly, “I had a 104 fever that put me out for a good day. I didn’t remember much, except my little sister calling me, asking if I was okay. I remember the doctors were surprised that my parents hadn’t shown up because most parents of an ill 16-year-old wouldn’t leave the hospital. I, honestly, hadn’t been that surprised, just hurt. Instead Yakov had come with me to the hospital, leaving as soon as he knew I was okay, in order to arrange a conference with the press or something-”

“I- why wouldn’t that surprise you? My mom would have slept at the hospital for like a week, despite my protest, just to make sure I was okay.”

“Before the interview,” Viktor paused, taking a deep breath, “I, uh-my parents… like I said… were thrilled to have a son who could accomplish so much but,” Viktor looked down at his feet again, “… they weren’t so thrilled to have a son who liked the same sex.”

“Vik- I,” Yuuri sat there, raking his mind over what Viktor had said. He felt shock and confusion etch across his face as finally understood what Viktor had meant. He felt tears slide down his face as Viktor wiped his own with the sleeve of his shirt. Yuuri’s parents had always been understanding and supportive, even when he came out, they threw a party, inviting everyone in town. At the time, it had been rather embarrassing but he remembered being thankful they had been so supportive. But it had never crossed his mind that Viktor’s parents were not the same as his. He never would have guessed, with how alive and happy Viktor was all the time, that his parents would have disowned him, or kicked him out because of who he loved. Yuuri felt his heart break as he let out a half-choked sob, pulling Viktor into a tight embrace. He sucked in a shaky breath as he felt Viktor slowly hug him back, feeling the Russian burying his head against Yuuri’s neck, crying softly.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

“God Vitya, when was the last time you were ill?” Yuuri joked softly, tracing the muscles in Viktor’s back. They were back at the hotel now, which deemed to be an adventure in itself. Getting Viktor out of the locker room bathroom, hadn’t been as hard as Yuuri had originally imagined. The car ride back to the hotel however, was a completely different story. The cabbie had to stop twice in the short 20 minutes, just so Viktor didn’t puke on the floor. Not to mention, trying to steer the taller Russian towards their room had been a nightmare. Yuuri was mostly terrified that Viktor was going to pass out in the hotel elevator, and every time one of the guests asked if Viktor was okay, Yuuri panicked a little more. When Yuuri had finally managed to get the door open, keeping his hand firmly on Viktor’s shoulder in case he took a dive towards the floor, he hadn’t been surprised when Viktor made a beeline straight for the bed and collapsed in the middle of it, unmoving.

It had taken several attempts to wrestle Viktor out of his shirt, and convince him that he’d be more comfortable in sweatpants. After that, and promising that they could explore Munich once Viktor felt up to it, he became much more compliant. Yuuri had convinced him to swallow some meds, down half a water bottle, and sleep with one sheet on, instead of the six Viktor kept insisting on. Yuuri smirked as he stopped his glasses from falling, and returned to rubbing soft circles in Viktor’s back. Viktor reminded Yuuri of Yurio when he was sick- innocent, childish, uncooperative at times, and slightly dramatic. It was adorable.

Viktor groaned loudly, “I saw your video.”

Yuuri felt confusion etch across his face, “What?”

Viktor let out a loud cough, closing his eyes, “I was home alone- the last time I was sick- when your video was posted online.” He groaned again and shifted in the bed, turning his head to face Yuuri. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the blurry image of his fiancé. He felt a gentle hand on his forehead, pushing his bangs away from his face and let out a soft sigh. Yuuri’s hand felt nice against his burning forehead. Yuuri always felt nice.

“You’re so beautiful Yuuri,” he whispered softly letting out a gentle yawn. A soft blush swept across Yuuri’s face as he laughed gently, “That’s the fever talking Vitya.”

Viktor looked up at Yuuri again, a dopey grin plastered to his face. Yuuri ran his hand through Viktor’s sweaty hair again before climbing over him, and resting his head on the pillow next to Viktor. He pushed his glasses further on his nose, a small smirk forming on his face as he watched his fiancé struggle groggily. Viktor moved around for a second, fighting with the sheets that were tangled with his limbs, and scooted closer, resting his head on Yuuri’s chest gently. He sighed loudly, closing his eyes, feeling the world beginning to slip away,

“Thank you Yuuri.”

He listened to Yuuri’s heart beating against his chest, feeling his hand gliding against his shoulder blades tenderly. “For what love?” Yuuri asked gently, adjusting the pillow behind his head. He tucked his other arm, the one not currently rubbing Viktor’s back, behind his head, and watched as Viktor tried to open his eyes several times, failing. He snorted softly, shaking his head. At least the meds were kicking in.

“For being you.” Viktor whispered softly. Yuuri stiffed. He laid there for a few minutes, listening to Viktor’s breathing even out, realizing the Russian had fallen asleep. He felt tears well in his eyes, and looked up at the ceiling. Viktor had gone years without someone truly caring for him, not to mention the number his parents probably did on him when he was a child. He felt his heart shatter again and sucked in a shaky breath, calming himself down. He didn’t want to wake his fiancé.

Yuuri felt a smile spread across his face. He loved Viktor more than he loved Pork Cutlet bowls, which for him, was saying a lot. He loved Viktor for being his loud, prideful, happy, embarrassing, sometimes obnoxious self- he loved everything there was to, and about Viktor. And somehow, by some unknown godly reason, Viktor loved him too. Not just because he had to or because he was coaching him, but because he truly loved Yuuri for being his weird, panicked, self-destructive, anxiety stricken, food loving self. He loved Yuuri for being himself… no one, besides his parents or sister, had ever loved Yuuri for all that he was. Yuuri closed his eyes gently as Viktor’s words echoed through his mind.

_Thank you Yuuri, for being you._


	4. It's What Mothers Do

_He laid there, pressing his cheek against the white tiled floor of the hotel bathroom as the world continued to spin. Despite the cold chill coursing through his body due to the freezing bathroom, he was still burning, and the air around him was getting harder to breathe. His head pounded against the harsh light and he closed his eyes, letting out a rough cough, wincing as the cold air touched his raw throat. He groaned loudly as someone knocked on the door, and Viktor pushed himself off the floor, pressing his back against the tiled wall behind him._

_His stomach lurched and Viktor swallowed, pressing his forehead against the toilet rim, knowing he had nothing left to bring up, silently hoping his stomach received the message. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, which in all honesty, was probably a stupid idea. And it hadn’t helped that his competition was less than 2 hours ago, which meant his aching body was yearning for sustenance and sleep. His clenched his eyes tighter, hoping the floor would stop moving beneath his trembling form. Someone knocked again and Viktor bit back a cough, wrapping his arms around his stomach, hoping that whoever wanted in his bathroom would go away._

_He hung his head over the ceramic basin, hoping that the saliva that filled his mouth wasn’t leading to another round of puking. Considering he spent last night vomiting up anything that he’d eaten since they touched down in Berlin, and despite downing almost an entire bottle of flu medicine, he still felt as miserable now as he did last night. The teenager swallowed, resting his chin on the rim lightly. At least his skate was over, so now all he had to get through was a 2-hour interview, sign a few autographs, and then he could sleep… then he could have time to be sick. Viktor sighed loudly. His parents would be coming up any minute and he had to be ready; after all, according to them, if he couldn’t get through a small interview with a stomachache and slight fever, then he shouldn’t be a skater._

_Viktor jumped as something cold touched his forehead and slammed into the wall behind him, prying his eyes open as his vision swam violently. He let out a whimper, blinking slowly until the fuzzy image of his boyfriend came into view. Henrik was kneeling next to him, his hand still raised slightly, a worried expression plastered to his face. Viktor gulped loudly, hoping to calm his breathing as Henrik reached forward again, pressing his hand to Viktor’s forehead._

_“You’re burning up babe,” Henrik said softly, moving his hand from Viktor’s forehead to his cheeks, his blue eyes dancing over Viktor’s pale features. Viktor felt tears swell in his eyes, resisting the urge to cry. He was 16, far too old to be found crying on the bathroom floor because he was sick. He cleared his throat, swatting Henrik’s hand away, trying to push himself off the cold hard floor. The German pressed his hands against Viktor’s shoulders firmly, “Nein, you’re not going anywhere. Babe, you’re sick. You’re burning up, and I highly doubt you can stand properly-”_

_Viktor shook his hands off, “I’m fine Henrik. Stop worrying babe. Besides, if I don’t make to the hotel lobby within the next hour, my dad will kill me.” He groaned loudly as he pressed his hand against the wall, standing slowly before leaning against the hotel counter for support. He felt Henrik’s arms wrap around his waist, holding him upright. Viktor breathed a sigh of relief at the comforting action, glancing up at the older boy, who stood several inch’s taller._

_“Vitya,” Henrik sighed, pressing his forehead against Viktor’s, his blonde hair momentarily shielding his eyes. He bit his bottom lip and shuddered as the heat seeping off Viktor melted into his own clothes. Henrik sighed again as Viktor wrapped his arms around his neck, pressing his shivering form weakly against his. The 17-year-old inhaled, pressing his lips against Viktor’s forehead, running his fingers through the younger’s silver hair. “I feel like shit,” Viktor whispered, grasping Henrik’s shirt lightly, running the soft fabric through his shaky fingers._

_Henrik nodded softly, “I know love. I know. I can’t believe you skated with how hot you are.” He ran his hand once more through Viktor’s hair, letting it slip through his fingers loosely. A small smile toyed with his lips as Viktor laughed softly, tightening his grip, and Henrik pressed his lips once more against the Russian’s fevered forehead._

_“What the hell!” Someone yelled loudly, causing Viktor to push himself away from Henrik harshly. His body slammed against the edge of the counter painfully and Viktor let out a soft yelp as his hip made contact against the pointed surface. The bathroom spun in a multitude of colors, and Viktor felt his knees give out beneath him as his stomach twisted. He felt someone grip his shoulder’s tightly, and Viktor blinked slowly, realizing Henrik was the one holding him steady. He pressed his head against his boyfriend’s chest, resisting the urge to bury his head against his neck, and let out a loud sigh as his vision cleared. He could hear the nervous beating of Henrik’s heartbeat and Viktor felt his own speed up._

_He pushed himself away from Henrik gently, pressing his hand firmly against the counter, and looked up to see his parent’s standing in the bathroom doorway. He felt nauseating fear course through his body and bit his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. “Viktor! What the fuck is going on!” His mother yelled. Viktor ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was bad. This was really bad. They hadn’t known, and this was not how he had planned on telling them. Viktor took a step back, feeling Henrik’s arm around his waist as if it were the only weight holding him down, and Viktor swallowed loudly. “I-I can explain, I-,” he started, breaking off into a coughing fit, doubling over as the harsh hacking scraped against his already painfully raw throat. His chest burned violently and Viktor winced with every breathe that he managed to push through to his aching lungs._

_He felt Henrik’s arm resting on his back and torso, gripping him tightly, and Viktor found his fingers intertwined with the bottom of Henrik’s green shirt, willing the fabric to keep him from passing out. He gripped the counter strongly, straightening his posture, his arms shaking as he forced his lanky body to stand. He took a steady breath; his head swimming as cold sweat broke out over his already pale skin._

_He groaned loudly as his father stepped forward, concern and anger masking his rough features. “Get away from my son,” his father growled, pushing the German away roughly, grabbing Viktor’s arm, forcing the younger Russian’s vision to waver at the sudden movement. Viktor closed his eyes, feeling Henrik’s grasp loosen around his torso, causing him to grip the counter tighter, his mind still concentrating on his father’s hand wrapped around his arm. Maybe it was time they knew. He kept it to himself for so long…_

_Viktor sighed loudly, running a hot hand over his sweaty face, opening his eyes to the harsh bathroom. He groaned loudly as his mother’s face came into view. He felt something cold touch his forehead, biting back a relieved sigh as his mother’s hand pressed against his cheeks, forehead and neck. “Vitya,” his mother whispered sternly, biting her bottom lip as her green eyes searched her son’s face, “I- I don’t know what’s going on here. And I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, why you would do this to our family…but right now, right now, you need to go downstairs and smile for the camera. You need to be there for the interview, and then we can discuss this whole misunderstanding afterwards.”_

……….

Viktor jolted awake, coughing harshly as hot air forced its way into his lungs. He sucked in a ragged breath as cold air swept over his shivering body, plastering the cold sweat that soaked through his shirt against his overheated skin in icy pools. He pushed himself into a semi-sitting position, coughing roughly, feeling his stomach churning violently as he glanced around the tiny room. He squinted through the darkness, trying to make out a familiar shape, trying to slow his breathing by focusing on something familiar.

It took him several long seconds before he realized he was in Yuuri’s old room back in Hasetsu, alone. He swallowed weakly, tightening his grip around his aching stomach as the feeling of vulnerability and loneliness washed over him. He glanced across the room, smiling slightly as his eyes connected with a poster of himself taped haphazardly to the wall above the desk. In the picture, he was standing outside the ice rink, holding a bunch of flowers, the gold medal visible against his pale chest. He had been about 18 when he’d poised for that picture, shortly after his win in Tokyo.

Viktor’s stomach groaned loudly, and he doubled over as nausea coursed through his body, his mouth filling with watery saliva. He sucked in a shaky breath, pressing his head against his knees, hoping the nausea would subside on its own. He wished Makkachin was here; at least she would help take his mind off how crappy he was feeling.

He felt tears well in his eyes at the thought of losing her. Over the past few days, this thought suddenly seemed so real, and Viktor wasn’t sure what he would do if she died. He had found her when she was just a puppy, wandering the snowy streets late one night. She was so tiny then, cautious and shy- and it had taken Viktor a few hours of sitting in the cold snow before she finally wandered over to him, accepting the pirozhki from his hand. At the time, it seemed like both of them needed a companion… and now, despite leaving Moscow and catching the first flight back to Japan, there wasn’t anything Viktor could do for her. He couldn’t be there for her. He wasn’t there for her.

He bit his lip as the thought of being alone again crossed his mind. He had just turned 17 when he found her, and even though she was now pushing 11, the thought of her dying had never really crossed his mind. He smirked slightly as Yakov’s face flashed across his mind. Yakov had refused to let Makkachin stay more than 1 week with them but by the end of the week, told Viktor that if he was willing to be responsible for her, then he could keep her. Viktor had never been responsible for anything up until that point; and even now, if she died, well then- Viktor would be responsible for that. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

Viktor coughed again, pressing his hands gently against his stomach as an uncomfortable warmth washed over him. He shivered harshly, his shirt sticking to his tired overheated body, and he groaned loudly, dreading the idea of moving. He felt a soft hand touch his back and he flinched, his muscles tensing as he realized he wasn’t the only in the room now. His stomach groaned in protest as hot stomach acid climbed his throat, and Viktor swallowed harshly, realizing he was fighting an already lost battle.

“Easy Vicchan, easy sweetie,” Someone said softly, and Viktor shook his head, his stomach lurching violently. He swallowed loudly, trying to keep whatever he had eaten down, as his body pitched forward again, loud retching escaping his mouth as watery bile spewed past his dried lips. He heard his companion gasp softly as Viktor’s body lurched once more, and he pressed his lips firmly together, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt a hand press against his forehead as his stomach heaved again, bringing up another wave of predigest food and foul stomach acid. His skin felt hot and clammy, and he could feel sweat dripping down his face as he sucked in a harsh breath, trying to calm his aching stomach. He retched once more, only bring up bitter saliva, and air.

He shuddered, feeling saliva dripping down his chin, painfully aware of the damp clothes sticking to his shaking torso, and the hand still resting on his shoulder. He coughed loudly, feeling tears stinging his eyes as he peered at the person sitting next to him. He bit his lip as his eyes met Hiroko, and he sucked in a small breath as tears fell from his eyes softly, “I-I’m sorry.”

Hiroko looked surprised for a second, confusion etching across her face as Viktor looked down at the vomit splattered across the blue comforter. She shook her head gently, tucking a loose strand of sweaty hair behind Viktor’s ear. The Russian was shaking, hunched over the blankets, sweat plastering his silver hair to his forehead. She sighed quietly, reaching her hand up to wipe away some of the tears falling down Viktor’s face, stopping when he flinched slightly. “Oh honey,” she said softly, “it’s okay. Nothing to be sorry about. I’ve raised two kids Vicchan, I’ve seen it all. Do you feel better?”

Viktor shrugged, realizing his arms were still hugging his midsection tightly. He swallowed, feeling his stomach turn again. Honestly, he didn’t feel better, He felt worse. His head was spinning and his stomach burned as nauseating acid wavered in his raw throat. His body was shaky and hot; his sinuses felt stuffy, and despite taking allergy meds earlier, his headache was still there. Viktor groaned loudly as Hiroko pressed a gentle hand to his forehead. Her hand felt nice against his burning skin, and he resisted the urge to lean into her touch. He swallowed again, “It’s- it’s fine, I’m fine. Just an upset stomach.”

Hiroko let out a soft laugh, “An upset stomach doesn’t lead to fevers, honey.”

Viktor nodded, not really comprehending what she was saying but not wanting to be rude. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, loosening his grip around his stomach, and pulling the sheets back slowly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering as his bare feet touched the cold wood beneath him. He tugged his shirt off gingerly, careful not to move too fast, and reached for the soiled blanket, biting his lip as his head throbbed against every movement. He looked up, feeling Hiroko’s hand grasp his shaking fingers, “Vicchan, let me do that. Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea while you’re showering.”

Viktor stared at her for a second, confusion etching across his face. “I can, you don’t have to. I-” He started, reaching for the sheets once more.

“It’s no trouble,” Hiroko whispered softly, her hand once more grasping Viktor’s, “besides honey, it’s what mothers do.”

Hiroko stood gently, grabbing Viktor’s hand once more, motioning for him to stand. Viktor stood slowly, his eyes fixated on her small form, questions racing through his tired mind. _Was this what moms did? His mother never did this. Then again…_

Viktor’s vision wavered for a second as he stepped forward, bumping against the nightstand, knocking over the small blue lamp, sending it crashing to the ground as his shoulder slammed against the cold wall. Ringing echoed in his ears for a second as black dots danced wildly in front of him and Viktor swallowed loudly, clenching his eyes shut. He leaned his head against the wall, breathing steadily until the dizziness subsided. He opened his eyes slowly, suddenly aware of Hiroko’s hand pressed firmly against his chest while the other gripped his arm, her worried eyes staring up at him as he towered over her. He forced a smile, standing up straighter, letting out a soft sigh, “I’m okay now. Just got a little dizzy. I’m okay.”

She eyed him for a few moments before releasing her grasp around his arm, adjusting her glasses. Viktor nodded softly, pushing himself away from the poster covered wall, wrapping his arms once more over his stomach protectively, walking towards the bathroom. He paused briefly, turning in the doorway, watching Mrs. Katsuki strip the bed gently, humming softly as she picked up his shirt, and set the lamp back on the table. He turned back towards the hall, squinting against the harsh hallway light that stabbed at his eyes. _Was this what mothers did?_

………

_Viktor leaned his pounding head against the cool metal of the elevator, watching his little sister drive one of his old toy cars up the wall. He smirked slightly as she paused over the elevator buttons, jumping the car from one side to the other, mocking driving sounds as the car sped up. He groaned and pressed his forehead harder against the wall, his mother’s stern voice coming back into focus. He felt like shit; and despite having walked in on him and his current boyfriend, his mother was doing what she did best, ignoring the situation._

_The teenager coughed roughly, putting his hand to his mouth, hoping to stifle the rough noise. He turned around to look at his mother, standing in the opposite corner of the elevator. She was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her slender frame, her voice light and friendly while her green eyes conveyed frustrated disappointment. She tucked some of her silver hair behind her ear gently, “Did you hear me Vitya?”_

_Viktor shook his head softly, pulling his shoulder length hair into a tight bun with his hand before letting it fall loosely through his fingers. He glanced down, feeling someone tugging on his sweater, and smiled at his sister as she handed him one of her cars. His mother sighed loudly, “I said despite the incident, we can get through this interview. We’ll sort you later. After we get home. Maybe taking a break from skating will be good for you. I think Yakov would be willing to pull you from next year’s program in order for you to clear your head.”_

_Confusion etched across Viktor’s face as he looked up, pocketing the car in his blue hoodie. Why would he need to clear his head? He felt crappy and he wanted some rest, but he didn’t want to quit. He wasn’t done with skating yet. He rolled his sleeves up gently as his breathing hitched, fire burning against his skin. He reached a shaky finger towards the elevator, pressing the emergency stop, emitting a small cry from his sister. She jumped slightly, grasping at Viktor’s shirt, hiding behind his weak form as their mother pushed herself away from the wall._

_“Viktor, what the hell are you doing! Your father is expecting us downstairs and-,” She started, stepping forward, reaching for the blinking red button. “I don’t need a break,” Viktor said. He winced as the words left his mouth, realizing talking hurt. Moving his jaw to form words felt like a big enough task, and having to start a conversation with his mother when she’d already made up her mind, seemed like utter agony._

_A nervous smile formed on his mother’s face, and Viktor swallowed, placing his hand on his sister’s back as she cowered behind him, her toy cars strung across the ugly floor. “Honey, I think you do. You’re ill. That- that boy- you won’t get anywhere as a figure skater if you don’t change! You don’t love him, you just need some rest. Trust me, you don’t want people to view you like that,” she put a hand on Viktor’s cheek before running a hand through his damp hair._

_Viktor stepped back, pressing his sweaty back against the cold metal, hugging his sister to his side as she called his name. It was getting harder to see straight, and the air that pushed past his lips, felt hot and heavy, hard to breathe. His stomach clenched again, and Viktor swallowed thickly. He felt tears welling in his eyes as he realized he what was happening; as he realized what she meant._

_“I-I do, I-” He whispered softly, his body shaking as tears fell down his face. He sucked in an airless breath as his sister pulled at his hoodie once more. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. The heat was unbearable now and he couldn’t keep his heartbeat steady. His mother pressed the emergency button and sighed as the elevator began to move towards the lobby. She motioned for her daughter to pick up her cars, and straightened her dress before glancing back up at her son. Viktor was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed as sweat glistened against his pale skin. She bit her lip and stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No honey,” she whispered, wiping some of the sweat and tears that fell from his face, “you only think you do. Trust me, I know you. And this isn’t you. We don’t need this type of embarrassment on our hands. Beside we have a few lovely girls in our neighborhood who are perfect matches for you. You’ll find a nice girl and marry her, just like your father. You’ll see honey. Once you take a break and clear your head, then we can put this whole misunderstanding behind us. So, for now, force a smile and cheer up.”_

_Viktor opened his eyes slowly, the image of his mother doubling, causing him to blink a few times. He pressed his lips firmly together, wiping roughly at the remaining tears with his sleeve and forcing a crooked smile. He felt too sick to deal with this right now. His body was on fire, and air was getting harder to choke down his raw throat._

_He pushed himself away from the wall, pressing his hands firmly on his sister’s shoulders as the elevator doors opened, revealing the horde of reporters and paparazzi crammed into the tiny hotel lobby. He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder again, and chills run down his spine as she pressed a kiss firmly on his temple. She squeezed his shoulder lightly, posing for the cameras that flashed in front of her, and waving towards her husband across the lobby. “Don’t embarrass us Viktor,” she whispered softly, squeezing her son’s shoulder once more as they walked towards the interviewer._

….. 

Viktor felt tears pricking his eyes, and wiped at them harshly as memories flooded back to him in waves. He coughed as his fingers began to shake, feeling his heart beat faster, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Despite having been on his own for several years, the memories were still painful, even more so when he was sick. He coughed again, trying to force oxygen in is aching lungs as tears flooded down his face, and Viktor buried his head in his hands.

Even with the hot water that washed over his body, he felt cold, he felt numb. His head spun for a second and Viktor leaned against the tiled wall of the shower. He coughed loudly, feeling the steam starting to clear his sinuses and ran a hand through his hair roughly. He hadn’t meant to cause Hiroko so much trouble. He hadn’t meant to leave Yuuri alone in Moscow. And he hadn’t meant for Makkachin to be so alone, so abandoned. He hadn’t meant to be a burden.

Viktor cleared his throat as someone knocked on the door lightly. He turned the shower off, and let the water drip from his body, soaking in as much warmth as he could get. “Vicchan, sweetie? Are you okay?” Hiroko asked, her voice echoing through the door softly. Viktor nodded, grabbing the towel she had left for him, before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll be out in a second.”

Despite feeling a little better, his voice was still hoarse and it made him feel small. He cleared his throat loudly, spitting some of the gunk that had occupied his nasal passages a moment ago, in the sink, washing it down with cold water and a shaky hand. He turned the faucet off and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, watching the water drip from his silver hair and run down his pale face. He wiped roughly at what he assumed was remaining tears and pulled his hair away from his face, taking a deep breath. He was almost 28, and despite having come to terms with everything a long time ago, he still felt like everything had happened yesterday.

He sighed loudly, pulling one of Yuuri’s old shirt’s over his head, taking in the familiar scent of his Pork Cutlet bowl. A smile broke out across his face as Yuuri flashed across his mind. Viktor had seen his performance last night on one of the televisions sitting in the Katsuki living room and despite being slightly sloppy, Yuuri’s performance had taken his breath away… like the first time Viktor saw Yuuri skate to one of his old routines. There was something about Yuuri that Viktor had found so breathtaking in that moment, and it made Viktor feel proud. It made him feel loved.

 …… 

Viktor was sitting on the bed, wrapped in two blankets, clutching a small cup of tea in his hands, watching Hiroko put a new pillowcase on one of the pillows. He sighed, looking down at the green liquid occupying the old wooden cup. Hiroko set the pillow gently on the bed before pulling up a chair, and grabbing her own cup of tea perched on the nightstand. “I’m really sorry,” Viktor said softly, grasping the cup tighter in his hands. The warmth felt good against his cold fingers, but despite this, the idea of trying to force down a foreign liquid made Viktor’s stomach churn violently.

“Vicchan, honey, listen to me. I raised two kids. I promise you, you have nothing to be sorry for. The most important thing to me right now, is making sure you feel better,” Hiroko said softly, placing her hand on Viktor’s forehead. She sighed as her fingers connected with his skin, an uncomfortable warmth present beneath his silver locks. She felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach like she did with her kid’s when they were sick, and took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes studying Viktor’s features. She had never seen him so sad, so vulnerable. Every time Yuuri showed her a picture, or even when Viktor had come to stay with them to train her son, he seemed so calm, happy, and full of life. Even when they picked him up from the airport yesterday morning, and rushed him to the vet to see his dog, Viktor seemed bubbly. Hiroko cleared her throat, pulling her blue hanten closer to her, and glanced down at the full cup in Viktor’s hands.

The Russian looked up, a sad smile plastered to his face. “You’re nothing like my mother,” Viktor whispered softly, running his fingers over the rim of the cup. Mrs. Katsuki looked up, surprise masking her tired features, taking another sip of her tea as she mulled over what Viktor had said. She set her cup down gently, wrapping the blanket tighter around Viktor’s lean frame as he shivered slightly. She ran a hand through his hair lightly and reached for the wet cloth on the side of the bedside table, folding it carefully, before pressing it against the Russian’s skin.

Viktor sighed, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to lay down, but Mrs. Katsuki made it very clear that he wasn’t allowed to sleep until he drank something. He opened his eyes slowly as Hiroko tapped the small cup in Viktor’s hands. “Drink something Vicchan, it’ll help settle your stomach and help you sleep,” she said slowly, peering up at the young man, fixing her glasses as they slid down the bridge of her nose.

Viktor glanced down at the pale liquid as nauseating disgust painted his pale features. Hiroko laughed softly, “I know that look. I promise Viktor, it will help.”

Viktor held the small cup in his hands, raising it slowly to his mouth with trembling fingers. He held the cup to his mouth, feeling the steam warm his cheeks, and felt a small smile toy with his lips as the liquid touched his tongue, flooding his taste buds. He glanced once more at the liquid in the small cup. He didn’t normally like tea, but this was good. It was light, and tasted earthy but sweet. It tasted good, and it felt comforting.

Hiroko laughed again, taking the cup from the younger man’s hands gently, “It’s green tea with a little bit of milk and honey. It was Yuuri’s favorite when he was sick as a kid. You can lay down now sweetie.”

Viktor pressed his back against the mattress, letting his feet hang off the end of the bed, and ran a hand through his hair as another smile crossed his face at the mention of Yuuri’s name. Despite the two blankets huddled against his body, he still felt cold. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach from the tea, and crossed his arms over his midsection gently, wondering if what Hiroko has said was true, or if he would see the green liquid’s reappearance. He sneezed softly as Hiroko ran her fingers through his hair once more. “Can I ask you a question?” He asked cautiously, squinting at the ceiling, trying to make out the greenish blobs above him.

“You can ask me anything, honey.” Hiroko said, pulling the chair closer to the bed, and scooting the trashcan closer just in case. Yuuri had never had a problem with green tea, but Mari however, was a completely different story.

“If- if you could change something- anything about him, would you?” Viktor winced as the question left his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked it but he chalked it up to the fever coursing through his body. His whole head felt fuzzy and muddled, and images of his mother kept flashing through his mind. _She was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her slender frame, her voice light and friendly while her green eyes conveyed frustrated disappointment._

“Yuuri?”

Viktor nodded, feeling tears well in his eyes. His mother’s voice echoed loudly in his head. _That- that boy- you won’t get anywhere as a figure skater if you don’t change!_

Hiroko sat quietly for a few seconds, watching the expression on Viktor’s face change. Her face was clouded with worry and concern; questions whirled through her mind as she tried to figure out why Viktor would ask her something like that. Then it clicked. Viktor never brought up his past for a reason, and he shied away from questions revolving around his parents, revolving around his family… Hiroko swallowed thickly, feeling tears well in her eyes as she wondered what the Nikiforov’s could have done to bring so much pain to such a sweet soul.

“No. I wouldn’t change a single thing about my Yuuri.” She whispered, wiping some of the tears that formed in her eyes with the bottom of her shirt. Viktor smiled softly, wiping away some of the tears that quietly slid down his face. _Besides honey, it’s what mothers do._ Hiroko pushed some of Viktor’s hair away from his face with trembling fingers, “Would you?”

Viktor shot up quickly, retching as the tiny room swirled violently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hiroko hold the trashcan up slightly, and Viktor shook his head, sucking in a shallow breath. He sat there, hunched over the purple blankets, concentrating on his breathing as his stomach slowly caught up with the sudden movement. He eased his body back against the mattress, pressing his cheek against the cool sheets, deciding it was best to use words versus actions. He glanced up a Hiroko, wincing as the table light stung his eyes, “No, not in a million years! Your son is perfect just the way he is!”

A soft smile toyed with Hikoro’s lips as she cupped Viktor’s cheek in her hand gently, “He really loves you Viktor… he has since he was 11,” She pressed the damp cloth once more to the Russian’s forehead, “He was such a shy boy, Vicchan. He still is… Yuuri was always my little helper. He’s such a sweet boy. He used to say he was going to be better than the great Viktor Nikiforov one day.”

Viktor laughed softly. To be honest, having Yuuri surpass him hadn’t really occurred to him, but something about the idea made Viktor feel warm and proud. Despite everything, Yuuri definitely had the determination, and with Viktor as his coach, there wasn’t any reason why he wouldn’t one day be better than him. In fact, Viktor couldn’t really think of anything else that would make him happier. He felt a chill run down his spine, and clutched the blankets tighter around his shoulders as exhaustion washed over him. The green tea that had once felt heavy and nauseating in his stomach, now made him feel drowsy and warm.

The room was quiet for a few minutes and Viktor turned to face the ceiling once more, squinting again, trying to get his vision to readjust on the greenish blobs above him. Hiroko shifted slightly in her chair, “Vicchan, sweetie, what did you mean when you said I wasn’t anything like your mother?”

Viktor was quiet for a long time before he yawned softly, “not many people know this but… I used to get anxiety attacks,” He paused for a second, pulling the blanket further up his body.

He stared at the ceiling above him, smirking as his eyes finally adjusted on what he originally thought were shapeless green masses hanging above the small bed. He coughed quietly as his eyes met the five glow-in-the-dark stars that were still glued to the ceiling. He smiled, imagining Yuuri growing up in this room, begging Hiroko and Mari to help him glue stars to his ceiling. Viktor cleared his throat, “I used to get anxiety and panic attacks all the time. Just like Yuuri… after my parents… I remember one night, I couldn’t sleep so I just laid there, staring at the ceiling and trying to steady my breathing, trying to keep quiet so Yakov wouldn’t hear. Lilia, Yakov’s wife, came into my room and sat with me the whole night. I remember listening to her sing, thinking about how if she had been my mother, she would have told me to stop being so childish. She wouldn’t have come in there to calm me down…”

Viktor sneezed, covering his nose with the crook of his arm. He rested his arm against his forehead, blinking slowly as the stars became unfocused greenish blobs once more. He peered over at Mrs. Katsuki, studying the soft features etched across her face. Despite only knowing her for a few months, she seemed kind and sweet- she seemed like the definition of motherly. Yuuri was lucky. Lucky to have someone like her in his life, to have a family that cared so much for him. The closest thing Viktor had had after his own family was Yakov, Lilia, and Nikolai. Viktor let out another yawn, “Yuuri is lucky to have you. He’s lucky to have a whole family that cares so much for him.”

Viktor laid there in silence for a while with his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing and the heavy feeling coursing through his tired body. “The worst part wasn’t the looks or comments,” He laughed lightly while running a hand through his hair, opening his eyes slowly and glancing back towards the ceiling, “The worst part was when I went home. After the hospital. They had moved… I remember standing in this big house. Standing in the hallway, running my hands over the cracked walls, tracing the memories that were etched into the faded paint, and wondering how they were willing to leave behind all this... My father grew up in that house; my sister and I grew up in that house, and- my mother- my mother, forced them to move because I had embarrassed them on television. Because it was worse to have a son who was gay, than it was to leave him behind without an explanation, without a phone call…”

Hiroko wiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. There was pain etched across Viktor’s face and Hiroko felt her heart break at the sight of the young man. She could never imagine leaving behind one of her kids. It was emotional enough when Yuuri had left for Detroit to train under Celestino; and Hiroko would have followed him if Toshiya hadn’t convinced her to let the boy branch out on his own. She pressed her hand against Viktor’s warm cheek softly as the Russian closed his eyes. “It’s okay,” He said quietly, “I don’t talk about it because it’s painful sometimes, but I forgave them a long time ago.”

Viktor cleared his throat, turning on his stomach, hugging the pillow to his chest. He closed his eyes slowly, hearing Hiroko’s chair scrape heavily against the wooden floor. He bit back a groan as cold fingers ran through his hair once more, pausing lightly to feel his forehead. It was a comforting gesture, something Viktor had missed. He heard Hiroko let out a soft sigh, and the gentle creaking as heavy feet met the old wooden floor. Part of him yearned for Mrs. Katsuki to stay just a little longer, while the other part felt relieved that she was finally getting some sleep.

“Vicchan? Sweetie…”

Viktor pried his eyes open harshly, seeing Hiroko standing the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the knob. Hiroko shifted against the doorframe, stifling a soft yawn behind her hand.

“…I didn’t know your mother, but from what I can tell of you, it was her loss in losing such an extraordinary son. She was wrong, honey. Not you. Don’t forget that… and I want you to know that you always have a family here, no matter what.”

Viktor stiffed as tears swelled in his eyes again, and burning against his cheeks as Hiroko closed the door behind her. His breathe caught in his throat and he felt his tired body trembling despite the warmth that surrounded him. He let out a half-choked sob as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. _She was in the wrong honey… her loss in losing such an extraordinary son…_ Viktor sobbed softly, biting back the cough buried in his chest, biting his lip as another cry threatened to escape his raw throat. _Was he an extraordinary son?_ He had never been called that.

Viktor grasped tightly at the pillow clutched to his chest. He had never met a family as extraordinarily wonderful as the Katsukis. Just as he had never met someone who captured his attention quite like Yuuri did. Viktor coughed harshly as tears glistened against his cheeks. He glanced up at the five stars on the ceiling. So many memories they had seen; plastered to the ceiling, watching over Yuuri as he slept through all the nightmares, all the fevered dreams, all the sleepless nights and all the broken hearts. Maybe one-day Viktor would be able to be one who replaced those childish stars.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

_Viktor shivered as the heat that was radiating through his body was replaced with cold. He gulped loudly as his vision swirled, blending the sea of faces and horde of cameras together into a mass of dull colors. He couldn’t think straight. His head was spinning, and despite having shed his hoodie before the interview started, he was suffocating. His mind was trying to rake through the muddle mess that was his brain, looking at words that his lips could form._

_He felt something touch his hand and tried shaking his head to clear his vision, his mind, to clear something, anything. He blinked slowly as the hotel lobby became a distorted image of shapes and sounds. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart beating wildly, trying to force air, any air into his lungs, as fire swallowed his veins._

_“Viktor? I asked if there were any special ladies in your life.” Someone said softy. Viktor turned his head towards the noise slowly, his whole body feeling sluggish and wrong. He opened his eyes and shook his head, not really understanding the question. Not really understanding where he was, or why he was here. He’d been skating earlier, right? Yeah. Then how did he get here._

_“No ladies then,” the person interviewing laughed softly, “how do you expect to meet any pretty girls with such a busy schedule?”_

_Viktor wheezed softly, feeling his chest tighten as chills racked his body. He coughed harshly, bringing his elbow to his mouth, pausing briefly as his stomach lurched. I don’t feel well, he thought. “I-I don’t-” he whispered, his gaze meeting his father’s, who stood a few feet away. Disappointment and anger were masked on his features, and Viktor felt like his heart was being torn from his chest, the oxygen squeezed from his lungs. His body felt hot, sticky and slow, and black dots danced in his vision. His body was shaking now, visibly shaking and Viktor wondered why Yakov wasn’t here; wondered where he was. He felt another hand grip his arm softly, “What do you mean you don’t? You don’t plan on marrying one of the adoring ladies after your heart?”_

_Viktor ran a hand through his hair, his father’s face doubling. He felt disoriented, dizzy and sick. Tears welling in his eyes as he silently yearned for a dark room with a soft bed; somewhere he could sleep, somewhere he could be alone until he sorted out what was going on, until he could sort out what was wrong with him. He groaned loudly, closing his eyes as his mind tried to piece together what was happening. He’d been skating. In Russia. No- Berlin. Someone was mad. Ana? No, that wasn’t right. Henrik? “My boyfriend- I have a boyfriend,” He mumbled softly._

_He forced his eyes open slowly, squinting against the harsh lights, as his eyes scanned the blurred faces, looking for a familiar one- looking for Henrik’s. If no one was willing to help him sort out what was happening then maybe Henrik could. He pushed himself from the chair slowly, his knees buckling the moment he forced his shaky feverish body to stand. He didn’t remember falling but he remembered someone screaming. He remembered hearing his mother yelling for them to turn the camera’s off._

_A million questions raced through Viktor’s mind as ringing echoed in his ears, drowning out the chaotic commotion around him. His burning skin felt nice against the cold ground, and Viktor closed his eyes as his vision swirled. He didn’t know what the commotion was about. He wasn’t sure what was happening. He felt small finger’s grasp his hand and heard his sister call his name, but despite desperately wanting to know why she was crying, Viktor couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes as his body drifted into an ugly darkness._


End file.
